The Truth
by Kyralian
Summary: The Hearing re-visited, focusing on Akkarin's struggles with his past. Cover image by Yoanna170
1. Scars

**Characters belong to Trudi Canavan, I also borrowed some ideas from s cinnamon, Naamah Beherit, Kasloumor and CrushedShattered wonderful stories. I was always frustrated with how the hearing went, story begins after Akkarin had had his say.**

Sonea looked up at him in surprise. She felt a sudden mad urge to grin, but managed to control it. Then she went cold as she suddenly understood what he was doing. Cold and angry.

'Stop that!' she snapped, making a few of the warriors around them jump in alarm. 'Stop this foolishness!'

Akkarin's eyes widened surprised by her tone, but he recovered quickly and glowered at her.

'You chose very inoportune moment to show your rebelious streak, Sonea,' he hissed through gritted teeth.

'I don't care!' she shouted, and then she looked at the flabbergasted magicians. And the king who watched her in disbelieving anticipation. Sonea felt her face grow hot. Probably not many people existed who would dare shouting at the High Lord, but she couldn't think about the consequences right now. Her anger egged her on.

'Your Majesty, Administrator,' she said loudly, her eyes flashing. 'High Lord Akkarin doesn't trust you to make judgement based on logic. He takes you for blind fools, that's why he's playing a role of a monster, as you all expect him to be,' she turned to him, her fists clenching at her sides. 'And I'm to be a gullible victim, but I will not!'

The Higher Magicians were baffled by her outburst. They knew Sonea to be a sensible young woman, yet here she was; making a spectacle of herself. Evidently, the stress of the moment affected her deeply. Akkarin closed his eyes as if praying for patience.

'Calm yourself, now,' his voice was soft and full of warning. 'Before I make you a victim for real!'

It sounded uncannily like a threat of a guardian needled by adolescent antics of his charge. Lorlen frowned, it seemed so surreal but also proper. Sonea stomped her foot in annoyance, ignoring her guardian and his veiled threat.

'Administrator,' she almost shrieked. 'I wish to present further evidence!'

Lorlen jumped a little. Somehow, the Guildhall had turned into a battlefield, with the two combatants being the two accused. Strangely, the incentive seemed to be Akkarin's praise of Sonea. She wouldn't be a victim? Wasn't she exactly that: his victim? He recalled the way she had obeyed his every command until this moment. It seemed her obedience had reached its limit at last. Lorlen glanced at Akkarin who was visibly seething with outrage. It could become very dangerous if Akkarin turned into a rabid limek he knew him to be, but Lorlen owed it to Sonea to provide a way out of a trap he helped put her in.

'To proof or disproof the High Lord's claims?' he asked hesitantly.

'Proof them, obviously!' she snapped beside herself. Lorlen's mouth went dry, that was contrary to what he expected to hear. Why would she defend Akkarin?

Akkarin had a sudden sick intuition and his face drained of colour, but before he could react in any way, prepare at all for the coming ordeal, Lorlen acquiesced and she launched at him, enveloping them in a thick shield as strikes fell all around them.

'No,' he moaned. 'Please, don't-,' But she couldn't hear in the clamour of raised voices and clashing magic. She snatched his sleeve and pulled hard, meeting his gaze. There was such compassion in her eyes that Akkarin was left breathless. He didn't stop her, he doubted he could have moved even if Ichani attacked at that moment. He felt powerless, transfixed by her expression.

She tore the sleeve off with a huff and stepped back, glaring at the sheepish warriors who now ceased their fire.

Lord Balkan was on his feet in an instant, his hand raised to order an all guild assault, but before he could utter the command the insane girl stepped back. She was clutching a strap of black silk in her fist, and glaring a challenge at her spooked escort. Akkarin, on the other hand, was visibly unnerved by her behaviour, fearful even. He was cradling his bare hand, and watching Sonea like a cornered animal facing down a predator. Akkarin cornered? Balkan smiled in satisfaction, and resumed his seat.

'May I lower my shield now?' Sonea demanded irritably. 'Lady Vinara, could you please approach and examine the High Lord's hand?'

Sonea waited until the shaken Higher Magicians nodded before lowering her shield, then she looked at Akkarin. His face was ashen and he looked more vulnerable than she had ever expected to see him. She realised that by removing his sleeve she stripped him of the armour he donned every day to keep bad memories at bay. His hands shook as Lady Vinara left her seat in the top tier. As Sonea met his eyes she understood that scars on his hands were nothing compared to the still bleeding wounds on his soul. Thoughtlessly acting to protect him, she was causing Akkarin pain. It hurt to contemplate the thought.

'We must trust them, High Lord,' she tried to soothe him.

He hugged himself tightly, defensively.

'It will make no difference,' his tone was tinged with despair. He looked away.

Lady Vinara approached them then. She looked at each of them in turn, anxious. Sonea, whose momentary flair of temper burnt out completely, looked at her boots. Akkarin swallowed hard, and then, with a practised motion, presented his hand to Vinara.

'Traditionally,' he said bitterly. 'I should kneel and bow my head. I'll skip that part if you allow.'

Lady Vinara caught his hand reflexively and stared at him, appalled by the tremor in his tone even more than by his words. He looked over her head at the magicians, his expression grim and unhappy. Disconcerted, Vinara looked down at the hand she was still holding, and bile rose in her throat.

All was silent and tense as hundreds of magicians watched the trio at the bottom. The High Lord, aloof and confident, was gone. The man who now stood in his black robes was struggling to hold on to some vestiges of control, but it was slipping badly.

'He didn't expect her to do it,' Lord Balkan commented, frowning. 'What is it on his hand? Some writing?'

'No,' Lorlen choked, his eyes growing wide in horror. 'They are scars.'

'Scars?' Sarin asked doubtfully. 'But why wouldn't he have Healed-' he stopped, his mouth hanging wide open in shock.

'Lady Vinara,' the king called after a prolonged pause. 'Your comments?'

Vinara seemed to blink for the first time in ages. She dropped Akkarin's hand and he immediately folded it across his chest, hiding it from view as if it was repulsive to him. She looked at the king, nauseated.

'Your Majesty,' she said breathlessly. She glanced at Akkarin, but the High Lord didn't meet her gaze. He seemed resigned. 'I examined the High Lord's hand,' she began, her tone growing more professional. 'It seemed obvious that Sonea chose me to do the examination because of my discipline. At first I examined the multitude of superficial little scars criscrossing the High Lord's right forearm. I can only surmise that they were caused by cutting the skin shallowly, just enough to draw blood. The incisions are precise and uniform, suggesting they were made with a single tool - a sharp knife or dagger. There are hundreds of those scars, but none of them shows any signs of attempted Healing,' Vinara took a deep breath before continuing. 'The scar tissue is unnaturally thick. It suggested to me that scars on the surface were built on top of even older scars. To confirm my suspicions I delved the High Lord-,'

Akkarin sucked in a shocked breath, his face was twisted in horror. The expression was so unnerving that Vinara glanced at him in alarm. Was he going to faint?

'She just said the hand! Hand only, Vinara!'

Lady Vinara stepped back at his tone, but then she shrugged her shoulders resolutely.

'I decided to be thorough,' she hissed. 'And well I did! Why haven't you come to be Healed, Akkarin? The pain must be intense...'

He closed his eyes, horrors replaying for his inner eye as soon as his real surroundings disappeared.

'You know as well as I do that damage to the nerves is irrevocable,' he muttered tiredly.

'It can be soothed!' she snapped, but Akkarin disregarded her.

The watching magicians, for the most part, were confused. Only Lorlen seemed to understand, and it sickened him.

'Lady Vinara,' he asked reluctantly. 'What have you found?'

Vinara went on.

'I discovered that indeed there are many layers of scar tissue in the skin of his forearm, but only on the right forearm,' she continued. 'Moreover, I discovered many other old injuries throughout his body. The left hand's fingers carry signs of multiple breaks, as do nine of the ribs. It appears that shoulder joints were dislocated and set aright so frequently that tendons are permanently damaged. His back carries signs of deep and extensive lacerations that caused the exposure of sensory nerve endings. This injury is still bringing a great deal of pain-,'

Every injury she named was like a slap in Akkarin's face as scene after scene replayed itself in his mind's eye. An old chant began in his head, _DoNotLookBackDoNotLookBackDoNotLookBack, _but he had never been able to heed that warning. Despite his best efforts he was drifting back. And still Vinara droned on mercilessly...

_Dakova's magic surrounded him in a vice grip and threw his body against a boulder, hard. Three days of freedom and now the race was over. He was spent, too exhausted to feel despair at his failure. One day more and he would be too far gone for Dakova's rudimentary Healing to be able to deny him this final escape. A boot kicking his stomach brought him back to the brink of unwelcome consciousness, he moaned in an involuntary reaction and received a hard slap across his face. He tasted blood. _

_- Pathetic, - Dakova mused at the edges of Akkarin's hearing. There was a cut and the sensation of paralysis as the remnants of his power was drained away, there was barely a trickle. A brief pressure against his temples and his inner most secret thoughts were stolen from him. - You are so incompetent that you cannot even commit suicide. I begin to doubt your sincerity, guild slave._

_The crunch of sand announced Dakova retreating, Akkarin had a minor twinge of unease at the lack of immediate punishment, but his body and soul were too exhausted and despondent to feel anything much. What more could Dakova do to him? He had already taken everything, everyone that mattered to him. He shut his eyes tight, hoping to die._

_A while later Dakova's sneering voice penetrated his numb mind._

_- Water and feed him well, - he ordered. - I want him strong enough to appreciate the experience, - there was an ominous note to that statement, but Akkarin couldn't make himself care, not when She was gone forever. Someone pressed a clay bowl to his cracked lips, and a trickle of warm dense liquid poured slowly down his parched throat. He didn't want to eat, but his body was betraying him as it so often did. He swallowed._

_- Good, - it was Takan's quiet voice. He felt the smaller man pull him into a sitting position. In a daze, he let himself be fed, like a baby or an invalid. Then he slept, his head swaying to the rhythm of a trotting gait of a pack horse._

_Invigorating power of Healing magic brought him round, he opened his eyes unwillingly. Dakova was leaning over him, his glittering dagger outstretched. Akkarin looked at the darkening sky, unresponsive. A cut, draining..._

_- That pet of yours is more trouble than he's worth, - a voice drawled from behind Dakova. Kariko's, Akkarin knew._

_- Did you bring it? - Dakova demanded._

_- Aye, I have, - Kariko spat, but Akkarin didn't even flinch as spittle hit his face. - It's a waste, this one isn't long for this world, anyway._

_Dakova chuckled._

_- I can wait._

_Days passed. Akkarin was left mostly alone. Despite his best efforts he was growing strong, and the cloud of depression was lifting its grip on his thoughts. Finally, the day of reckoning arrived._

_Takan roused him before dawn, as usual. He went for his morning dose of tasteless porridge, noticing as he ate that the new slaves were shooting him nervous glances._

_- What's the excitement? - he asked of Takan, the other man avoided his eyes. Akkarin was getting worried. - Takan?_

_- The Day of Reckoning, - came a barely audible whisper._

_- Ah, - Akkarin went pale. She spoke of this in hushed tones, the name itself awakening her dread and her longing. It was supposed to be the only day in a year the slaves could petition their masters for a different work detail, and one of the pleas had to be answered possitively, chosen by lot. Except for one slave whose misconduct in the previous year deserved no respite. That man would be 'reckoned with', whatever that meant. Akkarin could imagine who the one would be this year. He grimaced. He would finally find out what his punishment for escaping was going to be. Dakova never cared about this holy day before. Apparently, Akkarin's misconduct was grave enough to make Dakova stop ignoring this tradition. _

_- Isn't that some holiday only observed by Ashakis? - he asked to break the silence. - Whose plea is getting answered then?_

_The slaves didn't respond._

_Half an hour later Akkarin was kneeling before Dakova again, being drained of his power._

_- Did Takan tell you what a happy day it is? - he sneered. Akkarin narrowed his eyes, but remained silent. Dakova's hands moved to his temples, searching his mind. - He did, but I can see you do not understand._

_He moved away, leaving Akkarin kneeling in the scorching sunlight. All was unnaturally quiet, as if the wind itself was holding its breath. The sound of whip whistling in the air cut the silence like a knife, the sound was wrong somehow. Akkarin looked up, his unease growing. Dakova had a new whip. It was an ornamented thing._

_- You see, slave, - Dakova continued. - When the king names someone Ichani, he snaps his Master Whip to splinters. Casting him out from among his Ashakis. Very serious ceremony, I assure you, - he snapped the whip through the air again. - Ashakis uphold the law, and we are outlaws so the tool of reckoning is denied us, and our slaves never taste the lick of its fiery tongue, - he came closer to give Akkarin a better look. The whip consisted of seven tails of leather thongs plaited throughout its lenght. Akkarin caught glints of sunlight dancing among the thongs, and his blood chilled to ice. Metal. Never before had Dakova sought to cripple his prisoner. Something changed._

_- You begin to appreciate the beauty, now, - Dakova mused. - A unique toy to honour my special pet. Let us start then, shall we? Remove your shirt, slave!_

_Akkarin's fingers fumbled on the collar of his rough-woven shirt as he pulled it over his head. He was afraid of the smug way Dakova talked of this new whip. He thought pain of flogging had no more mysteries for him, but now he suspected he might have been wrong. He folded his shirt into a neat pile, and put it on the ground next to him. He locked gazes with Dakova, putting as much defiance into the look as he dared. _

_Dakova smiled malevolently indicating for Akkarin to approach the whipping post. Akkarin went, trying to prepare himself mentally for the punishment. Takan was waiting for him by the post._

_- I must tie your hands, - he said apologetically._

_Akkarin thought it unnecessary, but nothing could be gained by argueing, certainly not with another slave who was merely following orders. His hands were tied to the metal ring over his head. It was very uncomfortable. In front of him, Akkarin could see all the other slaves gathered in a semi-circle to watch, their eyes fixed on the sand at his feet. Takan finished tying the last knot and stepped back. For a fraction of a second, their eyes met, and Akkarin understood that the Day of Reckoning was in fact a day of executions. He shivered, that was the difference then, Dakova was bored, and was getting rid of him. He shivered, it would be hard, but at least he would find his freedom at the end..._

_The whip cracked through the air and fell. Akkarin screamed as seven hot knives slashed open his back. For unknowable time all he was aware of was fire licking his back, and screaming, screaming, his throat raw..._

_Then it stopped. A crunch of boots on the sand, Dakova jerked his head up by the hair. Akkarin was sobbing, unable to control himself. The pain was excruciating, worse even than bone shattering, and with every lash it was mounting. Dakova nodded in satisfaction, exulting in Akkarin's agony._

_- You are enjoying the game, I see, - he said, his smile vicious. - Else, you wouldn't scream so loudly for more. Let me see, - a trickle of Healing magic filled Akkarin and he felt scabs forming along the wounds at his back. - You wouldn't like to pass out prematurely, would you?_

_He wouldn't be allowed to die, Akkarin realised with horror. It was a mockery of Sachakan tradition. He would be roused every time he was close to losing consciousness, invigorated by magic so that he could experience the full measure of his pain._

_A ladle of water was pressed to his lips. He drank._

_- You mustn't scream, Akkarin, - Takan's whisper was urgent._

_Akkarin knew this game well. Five lashes more for every scream he uttered. Only this time his will couldn't withstand the searing agony that reaped open his back, it crumbled to pieces every time. The whip whistled through the air and he clumped his mouth shut desperately, it fell and a cry burst out of his tight throat. The flogging continued relentlessly, but he couldn't make himself stay silent._

_Finally, Dakova stopped and approached to evaluate his handiwork. Blood ran in rivulets down Akkarin's back. _

_- I don't have time for you anymore, pet, - he said with malice. - But be warned, every infraction, untoward action, or, - he knocked his fist on Akkarin's clammy forehead. - Every treasonous thought from you, and we will play again. Do you understand, slave?_

_Akkarin's mouth was full of blood, he bit his tongue and the inside of his cheeks raw in an effort to keep quiet. He swallowed it to avoid offending Dakova._

_- Yes, Master, - he said hoarsely._

_Dakova raised his eyebrows._

_- Surely, you won't forget to thank me for the honour I bestowed upon you, - he sneered. - It would be very ungrateful, my pet. Very ungrateful, indeed._

_Akkarin thought it the most perverse thing imaginable to demand of someone to be thankful for the torture he had just endured._

_- Thank you, Master, - he complied, his voice was heavy with sarcasm. _

_Dakova's whip came spinning again, and Akkarin flinched. It didn't connect, just a warning then. _

_- I'll let it slide today, but don't try me again, slave._

_Dakova cut his hands free and Akkarin crumpled, his legs giving way beneath him._

_- Someone sew him up, - he ordered. - The rest of you, return to your tasks. Spectacle's over._

_Akkarin understood perfectly. For him, every day would be a day of reckoning, and Sachakan laws or traditions be damned. As tugging began at his flaming back, Akkarin started to weep. He had been broken before, but this new punishment was capable of shattering him into a million tiny pieces. And Dakova wouldn't rest before acomplishing it._

Akkarin was shaking, lost in a maze of memories. A small hand curled around his fingers and squeezed, pulling him back to the present. He shook his head to dispel the images swimming before his eyes and looked down, Sonea's face was blurry, and he realised he couldn't see right. He wiped his face with the back of his free hand, it came away wet with perspiration. He was drenched in it, a physical reaction to the remembered terror. He was struggling to put on the serene mask he knew so well, but it wouldn't come. It was much worse than any nightmare, this relentless listing of his injuries. Sonea watched him anxiously, and he understood that she would stand by his side no matter what happened to him. She was wonderful and loyal and... and he didn't know how to protect her anymore.

'I can only conclude that those injuries are remains of a prolonged torture effort,' Vinara finished with a heavy sigh. 'The only Healing I detected seems to have been applied sparingly to prevent blood loss, not suffering. Is that correct, High Lord?'

She looked at him, but Akkarin wasn't listening. He was watching Sonea and his tender expression was mirrored on her face. It was disconcerting, as if they were alone in the middle of a crowd.

'They need to know what they are fighting to prevent,' Sonea said softly, her eyes wide and pleading.

Akkarin hesitated, drew a deep breath, and nodded. It was just another secrifice in his effort to protect Kyralia. His face grew calmer, but his mask had huge cracks which couldn't be missed by anyone. He clenched his jaw and looked at Vinara.

'Some injuries were Healed marginally. Why is that?' she asked nervously.

Akkarin swallowed hard.

'I was Healed by my Master so that I would remain attentive,' he said tonelessly. 'I didn't Heal myself except at the very beginning. I was forbidden to use magic,' he shrugged as if it wasn't worth mentioning.

'How can you make a magician obey such orders?!' Balkan was incredulous, his eyes bulging.

Akkarin glared at him.

'By taking away his magic, and by punishing him severely every time he disobeys, Balkan,' Akkarin said aggressively. 'Or did you think slavery was a minor inconvenience to me? Fighting and effective escape were impossible. Even suicide wasn't an option. I could suffer more abuse or less. I chose less pain rather than pointless defiance, I apologise if it lowers your opinion of myself!'

Lord Balkan was speechless.

'I didn't-,'

'Of course you did! It is so abstract to you, isn't it,' Akkarin interrupted, and there was hot fury in his gaze. 'Sitting in your comfortable seats, the concept of suffering is alien to you all! I shouldn't be surprised, knowing how your eyes slide unseeing over poverty and misery in this city! You know nothing of pain! My initial defiance lasted three days, Balkan, very fast breaking in, I was told. It usually takes a week, you see. Of course, I told myself I was being smart, biding my time, but after two years and three failed escape attempts I _became_ a slave at last. I cringed in fear when my Master as much as looked my way, praying there was nothing questionable in my behaviour or the quality of my work or my very thoughts else I would be punished. And when my Master had guests to entertain we would play games he frequently invented. Knucklebones and screaming game being his favourive by far. Yes, I was a perfect slave, and after eight years back I still live in dread of my punishment for escaping. You think I am a disgrace to the Magicians' Guild of Kyralia, but I survived it all! I wish you luck proving how superior you are when your time comes!'

Akkarin was breathing hard, his fury mounting. He had never shared so much, not even with Sonea, but something tore loose inside of him at Balkan's incredulity. The floodgates were open and the pain and the sense of betrayal were overwhelming. He had never wanted to display his scars, but now that he had the thought of his colleages still disbelieving him was reprehensible.

'Control yourself, Akkarin,' the king said sternly, his jade eyes flashing dangerously.

Akkarin looked at Merin, and it was as if a hailstorm cloud passed in an instant. His fury drained away. He dropped to one knee, holding the king's gaze with his own.

'Forgive me, Your Majesty,' he said hoarsely, his voice was quivering with suppressed emotion. 'I forgot myself.'

'You certainly did,' the monarch aquiesced. 'You may resume the proceedings, Administrator,'

Lorlen cringed. The king hadn't given Akkarin leave to rise, and the situation was growing awkward. Akkarin's face smoothed out, as if kneeling to authority was something he did every day. Sonea, on the other hand, was growing red-faced, her eyes shooting sparks.

'Sonea,' Lorlen said, forstallinng any explossion. 'Will you answer our questions truthfully?'

Her eyes went wide, nostrils flaring at the assumption implicit in the question. She dropped to one knee beside Akkarin and made the vow, all the while glaring at the king with open dislike. She jumped to her feet and looked at Lorlen expectantly.

'Did the High Lord kill Lord Jolen?' It seemed silly to ask that now. Lorlen doubted that anyone present thought that of Akkarin anymore. He didn't, but Lorlen couldn't concentrate. What horror was the screaming game? And Knucklebones, that's innocent, isn't it? Or knuckle _bones_ game?!

'Of course not,' she said angrily. 'Haven't you been listening?! He didn't kill anyone that night!'

Lord Balkan cleared his throat, Lorlen looked at him.

'The witness, Sonea,' he said. 'Do you know who killed her?'

The girl shrugged guiltily.

'I haven't seen this witness,' she said hastily. Akkarin's head swivelled around to meet her eyes, his enforced kneeling position making it difficult. His eyes shouted caution. Sonea furrowed her brow. 'Was she a golden-skinned, amber-eyed tall woman?'

'That is her description,' Balkan admitted, a sudden chill running down his spine. 'Do you know her?'

Sonea looked at her boots, her shoulders slumping.

'This is the part the High Lord lied about,' she said in a small voice. Akkarin groaned in dismay, the girl had no self-preservation in her.

'And what is the whole truth, Sonea?' Balkan prompted, his senses straining to pick up the magical aura around the petite girl. With trapidation, he recalled the impenetrable shield she had thrown around herself and her Guardian earlier. A shield that withstood forty warriors attacking it simultaneously. 'Damn us for blind fools!'

'The High Lord has been hunting the female Ichani for several weeks. He battled her once before, and was injured. After that I convinced the High Lord to teach me Black Magic,' there were gasps from the shocked magicians, but Sonea plowed on regardless. 'That night I was only to observe and learn, I hid. The Ichani woman ignored the High Lord who tried to engage her. She approached my hiding place. I struck before she could discover me. I killed your witness, Lord Balkan,' she looked at Akkarin then. He gave her a sad smile, his finger tracing his jugular in a familiar gesture. Sonea went pale, but determination in her face didn't waver. She shrugged.

'You have a few options available. All of them unpleasant,' Sonea glanced at the king. 'You have two magicians who practiced and killed with Black Magic. You could execute us, as the law says you must.'

There was a groan from among the magicians. Rothen's, she recognised but couldn't acknowledge him now. She needed to keep up a strong front, in absense of Akkarin's confidence she had to put on his mask.

'They could exile us as well,' Akkarin muttered darkly.

She paused, glancing at him.

'Exile? What would be the point...' Sonea gasped suddenly. 'To Sachaka!? High Lord, they can't do that, can they?!' she sounded hysterical now. Akkarin looked at her in concern, Sonea could read confirmation in his gaze. She closed her eyes.

'Your Majesty, I hope you are man enough to wield the axe yourself instead of sending us to those... those people,' she opened her eyes. The king was frowning at her, but Akkarin snorted softly, unamused.

'You're doing a good job of convincing them, Sonea,' he said.

She rounded on him.

'You know as well as I do that we wouldn't fight our own people,' she snapped. 'Not even the mean-spiritted ones!'

Akkarin smiled faintly despite himself, knowing exactly of whom she spoke.

'No,' he sighed. 'Not even those unpleasant types...'

'Your Majesty!' she said irritably. 'Could he get up now? There is something very wrong with me looking down on him instead of the other way around,' she gritted her teeth when the king declined.

'I'm just stating their options, Akkarin,' she continued tiredly. Akkarin raised his eyebrows at her casual use of his name. This hearing had turned into a farce already so he supposed the propriety didn't matter at this point. Still, it was oddly... exhilarating...

'Death and exile, then. The outcome would be identical for us and for Kyralia. Another option is for you to keep us-,'

'They won't,' Akkarin cut in, his tone contemplative.

'Why ever not?' she demanded.

'They cannot trust us. We have, after all, betrayed our oaths.'

Sonea glanced at him, thoughtful.

'Oh. Thieves' and nobility's honour codes have a lot in common, it appears. They'll kill us because we're oath-breakers, I can accept that,' she shrugged. 'Option four is that you chose the most trustworthy from amongst yourself to be your Black Magician. We'll teach them.'

'No!' Akkarin glared up at her. 'I'll not have this knowledge spread further!'

'Why not! Is there an alternative method of fighting they can use?' she challenged. He didn't say anything.

'It's too dangerous, Sonea,' he finally replied.

'When we die, the Allied Lands will be defenseless. And our enemies will no longer be ignorant of that fact. And we will die, wether today or in a few decades, and what then!' the High Lord stared at her steadily.

The king, the Higher Magicians and the High Lord as one pursed their lips in thought.

'When did you become so smart, Sonea?'

She grinned, appeased. She sat on the floor next to her kneeling Guardian.

'Somewhere between terror and more terror,' a smile slipped from her face, and she hugged her knees self-consciously, waiting for her betters to decide her fate.

'There are the books,' Akkarin ventured hesitantly. 'Could you teach yourselves, if you needed to? Lord Sarin!'

The alchemist jumped nervously. Despite his awkward kneeling position the High Lord of the Guild was back in command, of himself and the magicians.

'Sarin,' Akkarin snapped. 'Could you teach yourself?'

Sarin went pale.

'I... I do not know, High Lord,' he whispered, slipping easily into the respectful address.

Akkarin rubbed his forehead in thought. He looked at Merin, frowning.

'May I have your leave to retire, Your Majesty?'

The king nodded, still lost in thought, but then he froze.

'Retire...?'

He watched in astonishment as Akkarin plopped down next to Sonea and began vigorously massaging his aching knee. The magicians stared, speechless. Finally, Lorlen spoke in a carefully controlled voice.

'Do you require Healing, High Lord?'

'What?' Akkarin looked up absently, catching everyone staring. He narrowed his eyes in disapproval. Then he noticed his own hand still making massaging motions, soothing away his pain. 'Ah, of course,' he Healed it away giving no indication of embarassment at his tiny slip.

'I'll agree to teach your champions on one condition,' he said finally. 'I shall read their mind first to confirm their trustworthiness for myself. And you, novice, will obey me in this. I will not have this secret passed to another Tegin.'

Sonea's eyes grew wide.

'I swear it, High Lord,' she said.

Akkarin nodded.

'I and my novice will leave you now to decide our fate. You have all the facts and options, such as they are. I wish you wisdom in your choice.'

Without further ado he surrounded them with a sound-proof barrier and turned to his novice.

'You stabbed me in the back there,' he said conversationally. 'Takan's scars gave you the idea, didn't they?'

Sonea ducked her head..

'I didn't realise there would be... more,' she met his gaze. 'Takan didn't have them. I'm sorry.'

Akkarin faced forward, watching the milling magicians.

'Takan was a slave, useful property which while not treated very well wouldn't be squandered for no good reason. I, on the other hand, was merely a toy,' he said, pensive. 'At least you made them consider some method of protecting themselves, even if it was unpleasant for me.'

'What will they decide to do?' Sonea asked, for the first time she sounded scared.

Akkarin looked at her in concern. He was a roaring fool to have involved her in his crimes. He should never have hidden the truth from the guild. He should have confessed and let the chips fall where they may. Only he had wanted nothing more than to forget, escape, to never look back...

And now he was pulling Sonea in his destructive wake into that pool of despair that was Sachaka. Because he was certain that the verdict would send them there. With a thrill of horror, Akkarin recalled her earnest eyes as she held his hand. She needed to remain here... He couldn't bear for them to touch her... as they did the other. It was the most frightening realisation of his life - he was in love with Sonea, and he would bring about her destruction and suffering... Again, and again he hurt those he loved, simply by existing. He was a plague!

**Out of character in places and I'm sorry for that, but you'll admit Sonea was way to cowed a girl for a slum-dweller hanging out with criminal gangs, right?**


	2. Deliberating

**Characters belong to Trudi, whip belongs to Naamah Beherit, I suggest you go back to chapter 1 as I edited it quite a bit, and added a flashback memory. Enjoy and let me know what you think. This chapter reveals nothing...**

Balkan huffed in irritation as Akkarin made his pronouncement and settled back to converse with his accomplice behind the sound-proof transparent veil.

'That man!' he spat in indignation. 'Who does he think he is?'

'He is the High Lord of the Guild,' the Administrator stated curtly.

'Yes, but, by the Eye, it is his trial! It isn't his place to set us conditions! Or dictate our judgement!'

The king snorted softly.

'To be precise, it was the slum-girl who did the dictating...'

Vinara looked at Akkarin, who now seemed to be more relaxrd than she had seen him in ages as he addressed Sonea.

'How didn't we see it?' she demanded of her peers. 'We all were there when he returned to the Guild. We saw the frightful state he was in! I even asked if he needed Healing after his arduous journey, but he swept my concern away with some witty observation about the poor physiques of magicians in the Guild. And I conceded with poor grace, Akkarin was thin as a reed, but I could see the springy muscles coiling under the fabric of his robes-,' Vinara paused, her face turning beetroot red as she saw the double meaning of her words.

Lorlen felt ill, failing to notice Vinara's discomfort or Sarin's forced coughing fit. He well remembered Akkarin's pitifully thin frame when they had met at the Guild's gates eight years ago. The guards had taken him for a beggar, and if Lorlen hadn't known better he would agree with their assessment. Akkarin had been dirty, smelly, and more starved than most of the strays that roamed the slums of the city. One of the noble-born, venerated Kyralian magicians was unrecognizable. Lorlen always had his doubts about Akkarin's story of a robbery at the outskirts of Imardin. Thieves of the outer circle were bold, but he couldn't imagine one reckless enough to steal from a magician, even a drunk one. If he was honest with himself, he would have to admit that it was simply easier not to pry into a story Akkarin so obviously didn't want told.

And when he finally discovered Akkarin's secret through Sonea, he had immediately condemned his old friend, leaving little space for doubts. He saw what he had been trained to see in a black magician; a thirst for power and domination. But in five years as High Lord Akkarin had rarely used his position to force the Guild into anything, except recently when he insisted on increasing Imardin's defensibility. Mostly, Akkarin used his aura of power and mystery to be left well alone.

'If you wanted to fast and meditate, you wouldn't make your servant share the discomfort,' he mused to himself, feeling a weight press down on his shoulders. 'We never take enough notice of our servants...'

'What do you mean, Administrator,' the king interjected.

'Takan, the High Lord's servant, was with him when he came back,' Lorlen explained. 'I saw him. He acted so servile that I didn't spare him a thought,' he looked at Merin. 'Akkarin and Takan were equally thin and sickly-looking, but I didn't care enough to remark upon it. The evidence was there, before my eyes, but I chose to overlook it.'

'Lorlen,' Balkan exclaimed. 'Don't be hood-winked by that farce! It was obviously pre-arranged!'

There was a strangled sound from Vinara.

'You didn't delve him, Balkan, I did!' she snapped. 'The injuries were specifically designed to increase suffering, no one would go through what he did if they had a means to avoid it! I didn't even mention them all! Every single finger bone in his left hand was repeatedly broken. And they were curiously clean and straight breaks, as if fingers were struck with a tiny mallet,' she swallowed. 'That's probably what happened, too. Knucklebones, indeed! I shudder to imagine what he meant by screaming game,' she shook her head. 'No, Balkan, it wasn't a trick. He was terrified, when I said I had delved him! He knew I would see it all, and I did! There is barely a stretch of smooth skin left under those robes! And the pain...' she shivered at the memory of muscle agony she skimmed past during her examination. 'Are you familiar with the term neurogenic pains?'

They looked at her blankly. Lorlen didn't blame them. Nerve-Healing was too obscure and complex a branch of Healing to be included in the basic course of Healing magic mandatory for all novices. He cleared his throat loudly.

'It is a serious medical condition caused by extensive damage to the sensory nerve endings. The symptoms are persistent stabbing pains in the damaged area, very difficult to treat effectively magically and mundanely both,' he looked at Vinara sharply. 'You mean to say Akkarin suffered from neurogenic pains?'

Vinara pressed her lips into a grim line.

'Suffers, Lorlen,' she corrected. 'Throughout his back muscles. His whole back is one big centre of searing agony. I am astonished he doesn't wince in pain every time he moves.'

'What could have caused so much lasting damage?' Balkan wondered, his stubborn demeanour melting away somewhat under the crushing weight of reason.

'There's only one type of deep muscle wound on his back: jagged, narrow lacerations, caused by flogging I imagine, very frequent to cause so much mutilation. I cannot say what type of whip was used, though. The scars are very distinctive and strange.'

Sarin inhaled sharply, his ruddy face gaining a sudden pallor. Vinara looked at him.

'In _A Treatise on Sachakan Culture _by Lady Naamah, there is an inventory of treasures captured after the Sachakan War,' he said, kneading his forehead to aid his memory. 'There's a detailed description of a thing called _Ashaki Vrak _which can be roughly translated into the Master Whip,' he pulled a crumpled piece of parchment and a pen out of one of his vast pockets, and started to sketch. 'It is an obscure account, one of the oldest volumes on the topic we possess. Anyway, the whip was supposedly made up of several knotted thongs of leather with shards of metal woven into them,' he showed the sketch to Vinara. 'The book describes it as a celebratory implement used to execute slaves. This _vrak_ could be used solely for this grim purpose, because it inflicted too much damage to serve a punitive objective. The author cites an even older account of an eye witness to _Schrata Ruff _- a day of reckoning or recompense - which apparently was the only occasion this whip could be legally applied. If indeed there are still slaves in Sachaka, and I think we can no longer deny this possibility, they may as well continue to be victim to this barbaric tradition. But I cannot see how it can be the same thing. I mean to say, Akkarin isn't dead, is he?'

Vinara went pale.

' Scars I saw fit this pattern,' she admitted with distaste. 'But obviously, it wasn't used to execute. Furthermore, he must have been flogged repeatedly, frequently even, to leave so many layers of scarring,' she shuddered, remembering those overlapping twisted strands of scars on Akkarin's back and upper thighs, and the pulsing pain emanating from them. 'That's why he was Healed, you realise,' she was disgusted. 'To ensure he would survive that.'

'But why,' Sarin challenged. 'Did the girl have to trick him into displaying his scars?'

'Because,' Lorlen said with awful certainty. 'He is the proud leader of the Guild, not to be pitied by his inferiors. He would rather be a monster in our eyes, and Sonea realised that.'

They fell silent, lost in dark thoughts.

'Akkarin's words can no longer be denied, and his warning must be heeded,' the king's ringing voice tore the gloomy silence after it stretched too long. 'Nevertheless, the purpose of this Meet is to declare justice upon the High Lord and his novice. My Lords and Lady, let not your sympathies influence your judgement.'

The Higher Magicians flinched as if struck by invisible fist. While Merin's words on the surface were encouraging them to make an impartial decision, the deeper meaning was different. The king was hinting that absolution for Akkarin would not be accepted by the leaders of the Allied Lands. Black Magic was High Treason, as simple as that.

Rothen was frozen. He had stood on the stairs leading down to the centre space for the last half hour, unmoving. His thoughts were circling in endless loops, replaying unceasingly Sonea's admission of guilt. He barely comprehended other revelations disclosed this day. Sonea learnt Black Magic, she had been corrupted by Akkarin's lies. He, Rothen, allowed that to happen simply by his inaction.

'Rothen?' it was Dannyl's gentle voice, he took his old mentor by the arm and guided him back to his seat.

'She's as well as dead,' Rothen moaned, pulling his hair out by the roots. His tearful eyes sought consolation in the younger man's serious expression, but couldn't find any.

Dannyl didn't respond. The verdict could be only one with the admissions they had made. Guilty, just as Sonea had said. There could be no doubt of that. And yet, he couldn't deny that there were strong mitigating circumstances. Leaving Rothen to Yaldin's ministrations, he moved on to judge the mood of the crowd.

'Lord Larkin,' he called, approaching the young teacher. They shook hands.

'Ambassador Dannyl,' Larkin greeted him warmly. 'I would say my heart rejoices to see you rise to such esteemed position, but somehow it feels in bad taste considering the dire crisis we find ourselves in.'

Dannyl rolled his eyes.

'Black Magicians at the head of our guild is plenty scandalous,' he nodded. 'So, what do you think about all this?'

Larkin exchanged dark looks with his companions.

'It is a huge and frightening piece of news, I admit,' he stole a covert look at the High Lord. 'Sonea's gambit was a good one, however,' he sighed, unsure of how to put his thoughts into words. 'Black Magic without the context of slavery would be a dreadful betrayal, but-,' he paused. 'Do you remember how much trouble Akkarin got into in his final year of novitiate? One of him against Perkin's club, and somehow twelve of them spent a night hanging exhausted from the University roof while he strutted about pleased as a peacock. He was that strong, Dannyl! How could one man do those unspeakable things to him? And, more importantly, how can we blame him for wanting out, through any means available?'

Dannyl blinked, if he remembered correctly, Akkarin had stopped strutting fast as soon as Director Jerrik finished naming his punishment. The point was valid, however, if the strongest of them could be brought to such a lowly circumstance, what did the weaker magicians see in their future? Dannyl recalled the execution chamber at Armje, and cold fingers of dread ran down his spine. He remembered the utter exhaustion, his shield failing. None of them could withstand such unrestrained, raw power.

'But he should have informed the guild immediately when he returned,' Lady Tayla insisted. 'What he did since then cannot be justified!'

Lord Talano spluttered in disagreement.

'He was justified! As High Lord, he was preventing a war that the Allied Lands have no hope of winning!'

'Or his actions precipitated that war!'

_Ah, yes,_ Dannyl thought grimly. Murders on Kyralian soil, even murders of murderers seemed to be a sore spot. No magician could ever be allowed to be a law onto himself, meting out justice wherever he pleased. This sentiment was one of foundation stones for establishing the Magicians' Guild. Magicians of the Guild were the protectors and servants to the good people of the Allied Lands, they must serve, but never rule.

'And what about Sonea?' he asked when the argument reached an impasse.

The magicians exchanged loaded looks.

'She asked to be taught,' Talano said heavily. 'Her life wasn't in immediate danger, nobody forced her. Did she learn for altruistic reasons, or did she seek more power? How can we trust her, knowing where she came from?'

Dannyl shook his head in disgust.

'I'd expect this prejudice to have diminished,' he commented critically. 'I'd rather put power in her hands, than, say, Lord Fergun's, despite his unquestionable pedigree.'

Lady Tayla patted his arm affectionately.

'I share your sentiment, Ambassador,' she assured him. 'I don't think you are being fair to Sonea, Tal. For the last three years, she lived in fear of Akkarin. I'd say their circumstances are curiously alike, thank the Eye, without the physical abuse.'

Talano and Larkin stared at her in astonishment. Evidently, they already dismissed the fact that Akkarin had taken a novice hostage, and coerced one of their colleagues to secure continuing concealment of his crimes. Akkarin was ruthless in his efforts to remain undiscovered, and Sonea and Rothen were paying a high price for his ruthlessness.

Dannyl nodded in satisfaction. It would be unjust to give Akkarin any leeway on account of his suffering, while withholding the same courtesy to Sonea. Smiling, he excused himself and moved away to eavesdrop on another batch of discussing magicians...

The novices were tucked into the rear of the Guildhall so tightly that Regin thought he could empathize with sardines. The novices were excited to be allowed into this revered chamber before their final vows, an unprecedented decision. Apparently, the Higher Magicians judged the charges so dire that they wanted the entirety of the Guild to witness this Trial, and the fate of the accused to be a warning to any other wrong-doers in the Guild.

Regin had a splendid view from the top of the stairs, nobody had dared to challenge his choice of the prime space. He was disgusted to consider why that was, the brainless fools took him to be a close match for the Black Magician's power. It was a tempting illusion, but he wasn't a presumptuous buffoon to give credence to such idiocy. At least, not presumptuous enough.

He had been observing Sonea for three years, that was his little side project. Sometimes, he had wondered if he really was the only one to see how terrified she was of her guardian. Probably, nobody else cared enough to take any notice. Granted, it turned out Regin had been dead wrong in his suppositions, he had assumed the High Lord wanted the girl to warm his bed, but at least he had noticed something awry. Today, however, he could perceive the difference in her behaviour towards Akkarin. She trusted him, and her fear of the man was completely gone. She was plenty scared, but it was another kind of fear. Regin remembered that Sonea's stiff dread had been there as the High Lord put the inner shield on her before their battle. Whatever the novices wanted to tell themselves, Sonea's confidence in Akkarin was much younger.

Regin was watching the play of emotions on Sonea's earnest face, when a comment of one of his friends caught his attention.

'What did you say, Beno?'

The other boy grinned wickedly.

'I said I wouldn't mind playing a screaming game with our favourite slum-girl,' he laughed. 'Screaming is one thing we never got out of her.'

Some of the others snickered.

Regin nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards to form a haughty smile.

'Oh, sure,' he mused. 'That would be amusing. Even more so than your squeals, Beno, when the Ichani come calling.'

Beno blinked stupidly, uncomprehending. Regin only shook his head.


	3. Verdict

**BMT belongs to Trudi, please, review.**

Sonea found that court proceedings could become very tiresome indeed. It had been hours since Akkarin had conjured up a barrier between the two of them and the rest of the guild. They were sitting on the hard marble floor, avoiding each other's gaze and waiting, forever waiting. Except at the beginning, they waited in silence.

Once, Sonea glanced at Akkarin's face and she became very glad that he chose not to share his thoughts with her. His expression was distant but his thoughts must have been very unpleasant. She had gone through every stage of anxiety and worry, but after so long her heart had subsided to a stable rhythm and she only felt an overwhelming sense of boredom. Her stomach was growling loudly, but fortunately the only person who could hear it was Akkarin and his mind was preoccupied at the moment. Sonea was no stranger to hunger, but it seemed that three years of being pampered by first Tania and then Takan had made her soft. It was embarrassing, her last meal was barely a day past. She shouldn't be so famished yet.

Akkarin was assaulted by waves of guilt and self-loathing. For years he had been fighting the Ichani alone only rarely allowing himself to dwell on his role in bringing about this threat. It was better to know than live in ignorance, he kept telling himself. Akkarin had shared his burden at last, but he was condemned and doubted, as he knew he would be. A strong feeling of betrayal and resentment blossomed inside of him. He only vaguely recalled that arrogant, happy youth who had become a hapless victim to his ancestors' schemes. He wanted to blame those faceless figures for the ruination of his and Sonea's life, but he only felt more disgusted with himself.

_The evening chill was quickly chasing away the day's unbearable heat. The crackling of the fire and the scratching of a pen were the only sounds in the empty landscape. It was his third day in this barren country, and Akkarin was starting to regret his peak of temper and consequent dismissal of Pako, a servant in his father's employ he had brought with him from Kyralia. The man had been a brain-addled dolt and a spy besides, but Akkarin couldn't deny that he had been an efficient servant who would make traversing this soulless desert much more pleasant. _

_Akkarin scowled. No, he couldn't have stomached the fool after the embarrassment he caused in Elyne. Daring bastard had almost made his engagement to that appalling scarecrow of a woman official, and with Akkarin being ignorant of ever courting the hag. It had been his father's ploy, no doubt, to force his wayward son back to the guild and its machinations. If Lady Olivia hadn't alerted him to his impending doom at that one party, he would be trapped into a marriage before he could blink._

_A horse nickered in impatience, and Akkarin sighed. He put down his pen, and looked up at a magnificent black stallion._

_- This is a scholarly expedition, - he told the horse. - You should at least wait until I'm done recording the day's adventures._

_The beast snorted and Akkarin had to concede that the day was anything but adventurous. It was sweaty, dusty and tiring, but ultimately uneventful. With distaste written across his youthful face, he went to unsaddle his horse. Akkarin was raised to know good horse flesh, but this time he might have chosen wrong. It was an animal bred for speed and racing at short distances, but its long, elegant legs were proving unsuited for this harsh terrain and the distance Akkarin expected to traverse each day. Consequently, he spent day after day Healing the dumb animal to near exhaustion. As soon as they got to Arvice he would sell it. A draft horse would serve him better in his travels, surely._

_After he brushed, fed and watered the horse, he prepared a meal for himself. Grimacing as he devoured straps of salted meat and dry bread, he wondered why travel rations had to be so unpalatable. He estimated that at this pace it would take him another fortnight to get to Arvice, but he fervently hoped that some of the nomads in this accursed wasteland would stop disappearing whenever he got too close. He would appreciate some hospitality. Yawning, he prepared his sleeping mat and stretched out to sleep._

_The following day, Akkarin found a gully teeming with green life and it was as if he stepped from the threshold of hell to paradise. The day was only half done but he decided to take advantage of the lake filling the centre of the gully and wash. He left the horse to graze and went to swim._

_The water was blissfully cool on his sun-tanned skin. Akkarin had been a good swimmer since childhood. His family's holdings included rural estates by the sea, and his first instructors had been peasant boys who swam like so many eels through choppy sea waters. This lake was smooth and much warmer in comparison, but Akkarin smiled anyway at a recollection of a five-year-old's wonder and thoughtless eagerness._

_Washed, refreshed and soaking-wet, Akkarin finally emerged from the water to see a huddled figure picking through his belongings._

_- Hey! - he shouted in alarm, making the woman flinch and freeze, her hands full of his robes. Akkarin approached hurriedly stretching out his hand. The woman straightened, taking in his nakedness appreciatively. She was very pretty. Akkarin grinned. - Do you want a swim, too? Water is gorgeous, as are you._

_Her eyes widened momentarily, but next second she lowered them to the ground, her demeanour changing abruptly._

_- Thank you, master, but I cannot, - her tilting accent added a strange note to the tonal Kyralian. _

_- That's a shame, - Akkarin commented dryly. She was exquisitely pretty. The only marring feature on her beautiful face was a long curved scar on a cheek, Akkarin barely noticed it. He sighed regretfully and started to dress. The woman waited in silence, her head bowed, her shoulders slumped. She looked as if she had some bad news to impart. - Is something the matter?_

_- My Master wishes to invite you to dine with him, - she told the grass at his feet._

_Akkarin raised his eyebrows. Were all servants in this country so timid or was it because he was clearly Kyralian?_

_- Convey to your master that I would be honoured to make his acquaintance, - he replied gently. - Where can he be found?_

_The woman looked at him then, her expression incredulous._

_- I must lead you, master, - she murmured huskily._

_Surprised, Akkarin grinned._

_- The correct form of address is 'my lord' or 'Lord Akkarin',- he instructed delicately. - You should remember if we are to spend the afternoon in each other's company._

_- As you say, ma- my lord, - she met his eyes briefly._

_- And what is your name?_

_- Ilaila, my lord._

_It took them two hours to pack Akkarin's messy camp. Ilaila was an efficient helper, but she proved to be extremely shy. Whenever he tried to engage her in a conversation he failed to extract anything but the most concise answers, as if she was sworn to secrecy. If servant was as reticent as her employer Akkarin would learn very little. At least, he hoped, he would eat something tastier and more substantial than what his saddle bags contained. Though, as he looked at the close-fitting tunic Ilaila wore, he began to wonder if he wouldn't have to share his supplies with these poor locals. The fabric left little to the imagination, and apart from her shapely curves, her inviting full lips and the protrusion of her breasts, he couldn't see a gram of extra fat on her tall figure. She was... appetizing..._

_- You're a very good servant, - he said with a cocky grin. - I think I shall steal you away, - she went pale, her lips trembling. Akkarin laughed at her expression. - Only if you want me to, sweetheart._

_It turned out Ilaila wanted to lead the way while walking in front of his horse which was a preposterous idea. Eventually, he managed to persuade her to ride. He sat her, lady-style, in front of him. She was shaking, it was clear this was a new experience for her. He held her tightly with one arm to assuage her fear of falling, but this only made her stiffen more. He loosened his embrace, and followed her directions across the sands, to the east._

_Some miles east a camp came into view. Akkarin could see a few heavy tents spread out in a circular formation. Over a dozen people were scurrying to and fro like so many little cerynis at work. He realised his mistake, his host wasn't destitute if he could afford to keep so many servants. Ilaila directed him to the centre of the encampment where a large colourful tent was standing. She slid of the saddle as soon as the horse stopped walking. With a fearful look at a man waiting for them, she scampered away._

_A strong-built man was squatting in front of that tent, watching as they approached. He was wearing colourful, glittering shirt and dark trousers. Akkarin smiled, the outfit would please many a comedian at the court in Imardin, probably he should avoid discussing fashion in this country. He dismounted, passed the reins to a waiting servant, and approached his host._

_He bowed his head courteously to the silent Sachakan._

_- I am Lord Akkarin, - he said. - I bring regards from the Magicians' Guild of Kyralia. May our nations forever remain friends._

_His salutation was greeted by silent sneer. Finally, the man nodded and rose to his feet._

_- Let it be so, - he announced, holding out his hand._

_Akkarin smiled and clasped the proffered hand. The name of the guild could convince even the most unpleasant individuals to be friendly. Akkarin locked gazes with the man, their palms linked in a tightening grip. Suddenly, there was a pain on the inside of his palm, he tried to pull it free, but a crushing lethargy swept across his body making it impossible to move. He had been poisoned, he realised, by that cold-eyed peasant. He tried to attack him with magic, but his power was slippery, he couldn't hold onto it._

_His eyes watched as his tormentor's face split into a cruel smile. If he could move, he would have shuddered. His knees buckled, and if not for the Sachakan's unrelenting hold on his hand, he would have fallen on his face. His breathing was becoming laboured, finally blackness swallowed him whole._

_Flesh hitting flesh, desperate pleading, a sobbing woman... Akkarin was dreaming a nightmare, his exhaustion was so profound that he was unable to pull his mind back to wakefulness. Rough hands on his body, pulling and tearing, seams coming loose. He was being disrobed, that was as far as his comprehension reached. Laughter, more sobbing, sudden pain in his midriff._

_He curled around a heavy boot. He had been kicked. Wheezing, he opened his eyes. The man leaning over him was the one he had been led to. He attacked with magic, only... his hands were empty. He sought his source within himself, but it was gone, completely drained, as if he had used it up. The Sachakan chuckled and showed him a signet ring with a needle facing inward._

_- Coated in poison, - Akkarin croaked, the muscles of his tongue sluggish._

_His captor's eyes went wide in amusement._

_- Let's see who you really are, - he muttered, the tips of his fingers pressed hard against Akkarin's temples. _

_The young man snorted in derision, a mind-read had to be voluntary, this savage could go stuff him-_

_Who are you, the question swam to the forefront of his mind, and before Akkarin could think to muster any defences the information was there for the taking. _

_Did you attend the Magicians' Guild of Kyralia, this wasn't secret knowledge, but Akkarin was desperate to cut this interrogation short, to find a way to close his mind, but to no avail._

_Were you taught Higher Magic, this question at least elicited no response, but Akkarin suspected that the cause of his success was his ignorance. The pressure at his temples disappeared, the Sachakan straightened up, his expression thoughtful._

_- How interesting, - he mused. - You don't know Higher Magic, you don't even know what it does, but the guild is aware, surely..._

_He waved his hand, and Akkarin felt strands of magic pick him up and force him into a kneeling position. Only now he realised that he had been stripped naked. It was getting cold. The Sachakan squatted in front of him, and the interrogation continued. After dozens of meticulous questions which bared every personal and guild secret Akkarin was aware of, his brain felt as if it had been bounced around inside his skull. His eyes streaming in pain, Akkarin finally understood what the Sachakan was seeking. His horror at this revelation shook him to the core. This horrid man knew and was practising Black Magic, this bane that every guild magician was sworn never to seek. With a jolt of comprehension, he saw the titbits and clues he had uncovered in his travels also spoke of this forbidden knowledge._

_His captor chuckled, the tendrils of magic that shackled Akkarin in place withdrew, and he swayed. He caught himself with his hand, else he would have fallen. A vicious punch to the face sent him sprawling, his lips a bloody mess._

_- Dress yourself, guild slave, - the man commanded._

_Akkarin did not understand._

'Akkarin? Akkarin!'

He shook himself and stared at her anxious face.

'What is it?'

Appalled at his inattention, Sonea pointed up to the Guildhall ceiling where hundreds of white globe lights were appearing.

'Ah,' he murmured, he got to his feet, curled his fingers behind his back, and waited.

'What does it mean?!' Sonea demanded shrilly.

She also rose, her eyes roaming as the lights started to change colours. Red dominated with scarce islands of green.

'We have just been proclaimed guilty of our crimes,' Akkarin said calmly, watching the play of colours with impassive eyes.

Sonea looked down. All she had done was for naught. Akkarin had been the clever one, it seemed. He expected no mercy or understanding from other magicians. How could they be so blind? Her eyes pricked with tears, but she gritted her teeth hard. She wouldn't let them see her cry, she had been warned of the consequences of learning Black Magic, but she made that choice regardless. She believed with her whole heart in the rightness of it. Akkarin's cause was just. She looked up, her eyes dry.

'That's unusual,' Akkarin mused thoughtfully.

He had witnessed dozens of trials held in this chamber in his time, and the procedure was simple. After pronouncing them guilty the only thing remaining was sentencing them in accordance with the codes. So why were the Higher Magicians procrastinating? Akkarin was baffled.

'Is Lady Vinara shouting at the king or am I dreaming?' Sonea asked faintly.

'If it's a nightmare, we are having the same one,' Akkarin muttered.

They watched with wide eyes as the magicians milled about, gesturing expansively, their faces growing red in anger or strain. Opposing groups were forming as people left their allotted places to join others, their fingers pointing in accusatory gestures. Disciplines were falling apart, only the healers remained mostly in one cluster, the others split, either joining the king's party or Lady Vinara and her band of healers.

'Utter fools,' Akkarin growled.

'What's happening?' Sonea demanded.

'Mutiny against the crown,' he replied distractedly, he was trying to catch Lorlen's eye, but the Administrator was too busy keeping equal distance between the two feuding groups to notice. 'Fools are destroying the guild to keep us alive, but we are not worth it!'

Sonea looked at him, his face was contorted in fury. She had never seen him so out of control before, he was shaking with the strength of his rage. Sudden babble of raised voices told her that Akkarin had dropped his muting shield. She grasped his arm to stop him making some huge mistake, but it was too late.

'Will you shut up!' he roared.

They did just that, staring at him with wide eyes.

'What is your decision?' he asked, forcing his tone down to a polite equanimity.

Silence.

After a nervous pause, Lorlen approached the king and whispered something in his ear. Merin narrowed his eyes, and looked at Akkarin.

'Fine,' he said.

The tension seemed to go out of the crowd as air from a pierced balloon. Everyone seemed to breathe as one. Lorlen cleared his through, looking at the two accused.

'Akkarin of family Delvon, house Velan, and Sonea,' he began. 'You have been judged guilty of seeking knowledge of, practising, and killing with Black Magic.'

Akkarin raised his eyebrows, waiting for more.

'The Magicians' Guild of Kyralia strongly condemns such acts and shall offer no absolution to any individuals who commit such crimes seeking power over others,' Sonea made an indignant sound in her throat, but she subsided at a hard stare from Akkarin.

'However, we recognize that this time the crimes were perpetrated from an ill-conceived desire to fulfil a self-appointed duty to protect our nation.'

'Ill-conceived duty,' Akkarin mouthed, leaning his head to one side.

'Let it be known that in Kyralia no man or woman may single-handedly assume the prerogatives of courts and executioners. Even the best intentions cannot mitigate your culpability.'

'Long-winded speech, old friend,' Akkarin muttered under his breath. 'Get to the point.'

Lorlen took a deep breath, looked at the king, and upon receiving the tiniest of nods continued.

'You are hereby required to make amends to the nations of Kyralia and the Allied Lands for the harm they suffered on your account. Your punishment shall be a cessation of your personal freedom for the duration of your life. You shall be as slaves to the cause.'

Akkarin flinched at the word 'slave', he didn't think he could stand others to have power over him again, but hadn't he been a slave to the cause for all those years? Why should it rankle to have it imposed over him?

'You're letting us stay?' Sonea asked thickly, there were tears in her eyes.

'Conditionally,' Balkan warned.

Akkarin put his hand on Sonea's shoulder and squeezed gently. The sight of her tear-stained, relieved face was enough to convince him that he would accept any restrictions the guild chose to place over him. He would pay any price to himself as long as Sonea was kept safe and happy.

'What conditions?'

Merin looked at him with an unwavering gaze.

'You shall not practise Black Magic unless commanded to by myself or by the Higher Magicians, you shall not accept power from any other magician unless instructed otherwise, and most importantly you shall donate all your illegally hoarded power to strengthen the Arena. Accept those conditions or be gone from the Allied Lands!'

Akkarin went deathly pale at the demand for him to disarm himself. He would be defenceless again. He took a shuddering breath.

'I... I accept,' he said hoarsely, beads of sweat were appearing on his forehead.

'And you Sonea?' Balkan queried, satisfied.

She looked at Akkarin in concern, but nodded.

'I accept.'

Lady Vinara cleared her throat.

'There are also other, secondary conditions,' Lorlen said quickly, shooting Akkarin a covert glance. 'But they can be introduced in a more private quarter after this most crucial of issues is resolved.'

Akkarin's black eyes bore into Lorlen's back suspiciously as the Administrator led the procession out of the university and across the guild grounds. He had a premonition that he would not like any one of them.

All too soon, the tall posts of the Arena came into view, and Akkarin's thoughts returned to his immediate surroundings.

'Ladies first,' he whispered to Sonea. He doubted his voice would be steady if he spoke at usual volume. He understood why this spectacle was necessary to reassure his fellow magicians. Nevertheless, he was terrified.

Sonea shrugged, and touched one of the posts. She quested with her mind. She could feel the vast stores of magical power inside, and she was awed. She started sending her power into the post at a prodigious speed. The Arena was lit up like a bright sparkling rainbow. The crowd 'ooh'ed, awestruck by the beauty of the display. It lasted over five minutes, but before she could exhaust herself, she stepped back. A wide joyous smile split her face as if by getting rid of the Ichani dirty magic she was going back in time to a simpler era when she had been a normal student, not a convicted criminal. Her eyes quested through the crowd, when her gaze fell on a bowed figure, her legs carried her towards him of their own accord. People scurried out of her way, only he stood like a statue until she collided with him. His hands moved to enfold her in a tight embrace, and he smiled faintly, disbelieving. After a moment, they broke apart and turned to watch Akkarin, but Rothen kept a firm arm around her shoulders. He wouldn't be parted from her so soon after snatching her from the hell's gates.

Akkarin watched as years fell away from Rothen's face as he held Sonea in his arms. His chest constricted in pain as a sense of abandonment overcame him. His hand quivered hesitantly by the post of the Arena. He very much wished to experience the sense of release that Sonea had. His long fingers curled around the post and he closed his eyes. In one enormous effort of will, he expelled every fibre of magic staining his soul black. He sought release, and he found a deliverance of a kind. A deliverance of oblivion.

The shield of the Arena blazed momentarily with white hot flame leaving everyone dazed.

'Akkarin! No!' A cry was anguished.

**A question for avid readers: Is the topic of Akkarin's scars ever introduced in the books, or totally omitted? It is very convenient that cruel Dakova never mutilated Akkarin's pretty face, don't you think? No broken nose or knocked out teeth...**


	4. Worrying

**BMT belongs to Trudi.**

**Many thanks to people who took time to review. :))**

Lorlen's eyes followed Vinara as she continued her pacing of his office. His head was starting to hurt.

'Please,' he begged her. 'Sit down. This isn't helping anyone.'

Vinara stopped, pointing at him in accusation.

'I warned you he wasn't mentally sound,' she reminded him for the hundredth time, her seething anger not abating. 'You all scoffed at my assessment, bah! And now we have a new mess to deal with.'

She resumed her relentless circling of the cluttered room.

'I understand Balkan or Sarin, who have little training in medical arts, but you should be ashamed of yourself, Lorlen! Didn't it occur to you that Akkarin only seemed so serene and restrained because it suited his desired image rather than be seen as a man cringing at shadows? The unmasking Sonea forced him to undergo was costly, and anyone should have seen it!'

Lorlen flinched. He could remember another night not so long ago, and Akkarin's restless pacing as he had discovered Lorlen's damning knowledge. He had been like a caged tusked tiger then, but during the hearing Akkarin resembled more a lamb led to slaughter than any predator. The difference between a victim and a villain was vast indeed. It was a blow to be reminded that he had not only misjudged his friend badly, but also that he had failed to see a stranger in the face Akkarin presented to the world. He had accepted this false face, while his closest friend was trapped inside. Living his daily nightmare alone and unacknowledged.

'You diagnose some stress-induced mental impairment?' he asked doubtfully. 'For it to persist for eight years unnoticed... Vinara, it makes no sense.'

'I diagnose nothing of the sort, but I must wonder. What else would explain Akkarin's sudden transformation?' she snapped angrily. 'But why wouldn't he be traumatized still? He hadn't come to terms with his past, had he? He merely stuffed it all in a mind box, as magicians are wont to do!'

Lorlen had no answer.

'I didn't expect such erratic behaviour, however,' she whispered. 'And I should have.'

The Administrator threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

'By the Eye, Vinara, you couldn't have foreseen he'd choose to suicide, and with such a flair!'

She glared at him.

'Don't you see? It was no suicide attempt, I don't think,' she said heavily. 'He just overreacted!'

'Overreacted indeed!' Lorlen exploded, his eyes bulging. 'He almost went through the death's gates!'

'Your clever ploy backfired, hasn't it?' Vinara said scornfully. 'Instead of two hounds happy to be led on a leash, you've got an untameable beast mad with grief and biting anyone who approaches!'

The Administrator covered his eyes with his hands. But the recollections he wanted to purge out of his mind weren't visual, but auditory.

_The screams of utter panic as they all were struck blind by the searing blast of white light, the tremor of thousands of stampeding feet as the magicians fled in all directions, they were convinced they were under attack, and in common hysteria many were trampled under booted feet, sustaining serious injuries. It was a total fiasco._

_Only much later, when people thought to Heal their eyes, it became apparent that no attack was underway. Bruised and confused magicians picked themselves from the hard ground to find a weeping Sonea bowed over a prone figure of Akkarin. He looked like a corpse. _

_Sonea was the only one who ran towards Akkarin, against a human tide. She fought her way forward with stunning strikes and with her fists, to fall to her knees at her guardian's side. He wasn't breathing and his heart was still in his chest. Vinara and Balkan found her there, tears streaming down her face as she worked. Her hands were pumping his chest, forcing a still heart to work. Her lips were blowing air into his lifeless mouth, making the chest rise and fall in response._

_'Have you got any magic?' she demanded of them, not ceasing her labours._

_Knowing it would be in vain, Vinara bent down and sent a trickle of magic into the corpse. She recoiled in shock as she sensed the dimmest spark of life. Akkarin wasn't dead, but he was so exhausted that his internal organs were failing._

_'He gave too much,' she muttered, and plopped down on the grass on the other side of Akkarin. She started sending Healing magic into his body._

_'I need your permission to perform Black Magic,' Sonea said quietly. 'Healing magic isn't enough.'_

_They fell silent._

_'No, Sonea,' Balkan said with awful finality._

Akkarin hadn't died. Three days later, and he was still clinging on, breathing unassisted, his heart was beating in a stable rhythm. Sonea brought him back to life through stubbornness alone. Lorlen supposed that Akkarin's condition was slowly improving, it wasn't easy to ascertain with Sonea's constant vigil over his body. The harm that Balkan's refusal caused was insurmountable. Her trust in the guild's good intentions had crumbled to dust.

'If he recovers,' he said hesitantly. 'Something must be done to prevent such overreactions in the future. Have you got a plan?'

Sighing, Vinara finally took a seat across from him. Her fingers tapping in agitation against the wood of his desk, she considered.

'I searched through our annals for people with similar experiences, and how their reliability was affected by them,' she grimaced. 'There aren't many examples, but from what I gleamed I'm not very hopeful. We don't have much experience overcoming mental inhibitions. This area hasn't been studied much.'

'Stop speaking in circles, please,' Lorlen prompted. 'What are we dealing with?'

'Nightmares, attacks of panic, insomnia, intrusive memories prompted by the strangest things, physical reactions to stress, feeling threatened and depressed, I could go on and on,' she grimaced. 'A gruelling list of symptoms and each of them makes a patient untrustworthy in situations of severe stress. Which of them we'll see in Akkarin remains to be seen, but I'm confident I observed a few of those during the hearing alone.'

'I wouldn't say Akkarin is unreliable in situations of stress,' Lorlen said, referring to his successful hunt for Ichani spies.

Vinara pursed her lips in thought.

'Only the last one was an Ichani, and Sonea killed her.'

Lorlen frowned.

'What are you trying to tell me?'

'There was once a case of a young woman, a victim of family abuse. The perpetrator was her husband. One night she tried to kill him with a kitchen knife, but the man woke up in a nick of time. She was armed, he wasn't, but the woman was incapable of action. She was beaten to death by the husband despite the knife clutched tight in her hand.'

Lorlen went pale.

'Akkarin might be unable to confront the Ichani, is that what you're saying?'

She shrugged.

'The ones he's personally afraid of. We must consider this possibility.'

'Where do you get those stories, anyway?'

'Captain Barren offered help.'

Merin would be delighted. He only agreed to mitigate the punishment persuaded that without Akkarin and Sonea Kyralia would likely fall.

'I pray you are mistaken,' he muttered. 'Else our fate will lie with a young woman who hates us with passion.'

Vinara smiled grimly.

'I suspect her anger will ebb as soon as Akkarin opens his eyes,' she said. 'Besides, I didn't imply Akkarin would be useless in a war. We just have to ensure he can overcome his fear of Kariko before he faces the man.'

'And how do you propose to do that?'

'I don't know, yet.'

At a soft knock at the door, Lorlen looked up, and sent a bit of magic at the door. As they swung open, a bleary-eyed Lord Osen entered, immediately collapsing into one of the cushioned guest chairs.

'What news?' Lorlen asked. He dreaded the reply, each time Osen had come it was to bring ill-tidings.

'Bad,' Osen said miserably. 'The king's advisor visited Sonea.'

Lorlen groaned.

'Let's hear it,' he said.

Osen rubbed sleep from his eyes.

'The king summoned Sonea to the palace,' he began. 'She refused, of course, saying if he wanted her to perform Black Magic the king might come to her,' he swallowed hard. 'The advisor seemed to think the comment was a threat and chose to berate her rather harshly, an argument ensued. Sonea's string of foul curses proved more impressive, and the advisor left in haste.'

Lorlen barked a laugh which he managed to convert into a passably convincing fit of coughing.

'Get some sleep, Osen,' Vinara told the young man.

**Do you like the cover image by yoanna170? Akkarin thinking black thoughts...**


	5. Vigil

**BMT belongs to Trudi**

Sonea leaned her head against a window pane and closed her eyes. She was exhausted, even though she kept Healing away her fatigue and was so far managing to remain wakeful, she could feel she was losing this battle. Akkarin was recovering very slowly, he was more defenceless than a newborn baby, unable even to cry out in distress. Sonea knew deep within a part of her mind that contained reason that her fear of betrayal was irrational, no Ichani could approach this chamber unnoticed, and the magicians of the guild wouldn't murder a helpless man, would they? She couldn't forget the relief in Balkan's eyes when he thought Akkarin would die. The guild had allowed them to stay, but their mercy was false. None of them could be trusted to protect Akkarin. There was only her.

Sonea looked at his face, he looked peaceful in sleep. Lady Vinara had said he remained deeply unconscious. Apparently, his source of power was nearly replenished, it shouldn't take much longer for him to finally wake. She hoped so, but also dreaded that his brief time of being dead would have damaged him.

A sudden twinge in the shield on the door brought her back to full alertness. The Healer usually came after the evening meal and Akkarin's condition didn't warrant additional visits, so it would be another annoyance for her to weather. Hopefully, it wasn't the king coming in the wake of his stupid advisor...

She almost wished it were. A haughty figure of Regin strode through the door, an audacious smile split his face as he noticed her grimace of dismay.

'What are those warriors outside for,' she asked peevishly. 'If anyone can enter?'

He snorted in derision.

'Their job is to keep you in, not others out,' he explained loftily. 'Guard duty being rather dull, they started to gamble. I placed a bet myself, stakes being so high and all.'

Sonea glowered at him.

'A bet on what?'

Regin took in a small room appreciatively.

'Oh, all kinds,' he laughed. 'One I found interesting is how long it would take you to banish your next visitor. The last one managed eight minutes, you see. I lost money on that.'

Sonea raised her eyebrows.

'How long did you think he'd last?' She asked unable to help herself.

'Four,' he admitted. 'He's known for his impetuous nature.'

'A bad trait in an advisor, I'd think,' Sonea commented dryly. 'And how long are you staying?'

Regin shrugged, moving to approach the bed. Sonea's shield impeded him half-way through the room. He looked at her in amusement.

'Were I an assassin, would I engage in this friendly discourse?' He drawled. 'How is the Grand Deceiver faring then?'

Sonea frowned.

'A new title, unofficial as of yet,' he explained. 'We cannot keep calling him the High Lord, not now that we have a new one.'

'Balkan,' she guessed in discomfort

'His not intimidated treatment of you gained him much support,' he smirked.

'Time to go, Regin,' Sonea told him warningly.

'Don't you want to know proposals for your title?' He asked innocently.

'Will this make you go, then?'

'Sure,' he sneered. 'I need to collect my winnings, after all.'

He started walking to the door.

'A Shield of Kyralia, Protector of the Realm and some such pompous nonsense were proposed,' he paused at the door and looked back. 'But I'd wager the one that will stick is the Mad Apprentice,' he deflected a glass she threw at him, and closed the door.

Sonea glared at the door for a long while. Lord Balkan's ruthlessness was rewarded, then. It didn't surprise her. She wished she could hit someone. Regin would be a good one. Or Akkarin. How could he have messed up so badly? She returned to the window seat, and yawned. She agreed completely that guard duty was dull.

At dusk a servant with her meal arrived, and shortly afterwards a healer for Akkarin. The young man raised his eyebrows at Sonea's mistrustful expression.

'Do you want to read my mind again, Apprentice?' He asked with a reassuring smile.

Sonea's expression darkened as she remembered Regin's comments. She shook her head. She had been thorough before, and his utter lack of guile and resentment at her intrusion was very disconcerting. She knew more about his life than she ever wanted to find out about anybody and felt bad about forcing him to go through it.

Lord Atten put his hand on Akkarin's forehead and closed his eyes. A few minutes of anxious silence followed, and then he opened his eyes and grinned.

'He's perfectly fine,' he said, but then he grew serious. 'You, on the contrary, look awful, Sonea.'

'Thank you, Lord Atten,' she replied with a faint smile.

He sighed in disapproval.

'Get some sleep,' he told her. 'You are both safe here.'

She knew that, theoretically. She smiled and promised that she would try to do that.

Akkarin was drifting ever closer to wakefulness, the vicious reappearance of pain in his back parting the veil of blissful sleep. He drew in a long shuddering breath, his teeth clenching against a moan that longed to escape his throat. Each morning the pain would claim his fullest attention, as a beast which hunger couldn't be denied for long. He was forever its slave, but long ago he had found an ally in his mind. He could find a modicum of freedom by willing his pain behind a barrier of his mind. He would still be hurting, but he wouldn't be incapacitated by it. It was the best defence he knew, the only problem was that it had to be repeated after every awakening. Sleep relinquished every barrier the mind had conjured up during the day. He tried to concentrate through the stabbing agony, he could feel drops of perspiration streaming into his eyes, his muscles straining in effort.

At last the shackles of his mind snapped firmly shut, and Akkarin sighed in relief as his awareness of the pain diminished. He lay still, giving his body a moment to relax after the ordeal, his breathing slowing steadily.

He was surprised to discover that he felt _well. _Akkarin couldn't recall when was the last time he felt so rested. A night without bad dreams made wonders. He opened his eyes. It was dark as the inside of a tomb, the middle of the night then. That was strange. He felt very stiff as if he had lain unmoving for a very long time, but it couldn't have been more than a couple of hours, surely. He yawned expansively, he felt ravenous. He would get a snack from the kitchen, Takan always left some delicacy waiting for him...

As the last vestiges of sleep left him, Akkarin became aware of soft pressure of warm skin against the inside of his palm. It sent a jolt of terror through his body and mind so profound that he ceased to be a complex human being. Only one idea existed. He wasn't shielding! His instincts took over, there was no place for hesitation. In his panic, he flung a wave of strong magic outwards, throwing away the hand and a body attached to it. At the same time, he delved into his body desperately seeking a tell-tale cut to Heal. He couldn't find any. He wasn't too late, a sob of relief escaped him as he put magic into a strong shield. His power was feeble however, dwindling at a prodigious pace. Akkarin had no strength to do battle, a terror and despair resurfaced with a renewed vigour. It was a nightmare, the worst kind.

There was a thud of a body striking a wall, and a yelp of pain and alarm. The darkness was shattered by a globe light coming into existence overhead. Dazzled by the sudden brightness, Akkarin could make out a figure spread-eagled on the floor stirring feebly. His eyes watered from the light, but he knew it was Dakova, a malicious smile twisting his features. A whimper of terror burst out of his constricted throat - no, no, no! Desperate, he began to prepare a last strong strike. The Ichani was clearly dazed, there was a chance his shield would fail this time.

Sonea's arm hurt like a hundred hells, it was broken in a nasty way, white bone sticking out of torn skin. She scrambled, trying to figure out where the attack had come from. She must have dozed off, and weren't they waiting for just that! Conjuring a globe light, she blinked owlishly, confused. The door was closed and the room seemed to be empty. A whimpering sound caught her attention, and she looked around. Akkarin! He was awake, sitting up in his bed! And yet, before she could exult in her victory, her mind registered that something was very wrong. Akkarin's face was twisted in terror, his eyes glazed over seeing things that weren't there. His whole body was shaking as he gathered his power. Akkarin didn't recognize her, she realised. She cried out, struggling to build a thick enough shield around herself. She barely made it in time. His strike hit her hard, she swayed, trying to withstand the assault. Her shield held.

The door banged open and several red-clad warriors barged in, their shields merged into one. They took in the scene and stopped, their poses not threatening.

'Lord Akkarin, are you well?' asked the lead warrior loudly.

Akkarin shuddered violently, his breath coming in great gasps.

'No,' he croaked, his hands cradling his head. 'I am not well.'


	6. Secondary Conditions

**BMT belongs to Trudi**

**Thanks to my few reviewers - you make this story worth writing. This chapter has some adult content.**

Akkarin was curled up, his knees pulled tight to his chest under the sheet, his eyes fixed forward, unseeing. His mind filled the images of Sonea's pain, her mangled arm sticking out at an odd angle. He was a monster. Consumed by his delusions, he almost killed the only person for whom he harboured any deep feelings. She defended him, but he was unworthy of it. The feelings of guilt and disgust with himself assaulted him. He was drowning in it. Eight years of escaping and he was back in the hell of not knowing where his nightmares ended and reality began.

'Stop moping,' Vinara snapped, entering the room with a tray of food. 'Sonea's going to be fine.'

He looked at her in anguish.

'I almost murdered her, Vinara,' he whispered hoarsely, he put two fingers an inch apart. 'Her shield was so close from collapsing.'

Lady Vinara placed the tray on Akkarin's knees, and sat down beside the bed.

'Yes, it's fortunate you drained yourself so thoroughly maintaining a shield,' he grimaced at that. 'Tell me what has happened.'

Akkarin knitted his brows, hesitating.

'She was holding my hand,' he admitted reluctantly.

Vinara stared at him in astonishment.

'That hardly deserves a death sentence,' she said.

Akkarin met her gaze and saw that she didn't comprehend. She couldn't understand. This wasn't something that could be expressed by words, or he didn't know the right ones. He took a deep breath, not wanting to think about it, but he needed to at least try to explain.

'I panicked. I always shield during the night,' he said. He prayed to any and all gods that he reclaimed a sense of mental balance and self-possession that he had found in his role as High Lord. Akkarin the ex-slave was a pitiful creature undeserving of consideration. He had spent years trying to eradicate the last remnants of this human wreck, but this creature was not gone only lurking under a thin layer of confidence, a layer that had been stripped away during the Hearing.

'You panicked,' Vinara repeated flatly. She could recognize the closed expression on his frowning face, he was evasive. 'Eat before it gets cold.'

As Akkarin picked through his food, she concentrated on the little titbits that he told her. Sonea had been holding his hand which caused Akkarin to panic so thoroughly that he retaliated with magic. Why? Vinara couldn't imagine what was so frightening in that. She watched him eat, as her mind dismantled his every word. Shielding while sleeping demanded a level of control few magicians possessed, maintaining it every night was surely exhausting. To fear a mere touch was... disconcerting. Her brief study of abuse cases didn't give her much to build on, but one thing leaped out at her with frightening clarity. Rape. That was one reason for touch to become loathsome. She shuddered, unable to imagine a man could be used in that way.

Akkarin looked away, his eyes narrowing in self-disgust. She had no idea. Rape? This word had a face in Akkarin's mind. And a name - Avala.

_Akkarin quickly learnt to dread visits from the other Ichani. Alone, Dakova eventually became bored and the torments would diminish, but guests always inspired him to show off his complete mastery over a guild magician and the pain and humiliation would increase a thousand fold. _

_A new Ichani came by this morning, but so far he was managing to avoid attention. His duties took him outside the camp, and he delayed his returning as much as he dared. He chose a roundabout route to the slaves' fire, staying out of sight of Dakova's tent. He found a bowl of cold porridge and ate in a hurry, desperate to escape from this place. Before he made more than a few steps, Takan showed up, his usually calm demeanour replaced by an angry frown._

_- Why do you keep doing this? - he demanded. - It only makes life harder for you. And me, - he added as an afterthought, and Akkarin felt a surge of guilt as he noticed an angry red welt on Takan's face._

_- I must resist, - he explained lamely._

_Takan sighed._

_- You are a slave. The sooner you accept this, the happier you'll be._

_Akkarin barked out a bitter laugh._

_- You speak from experience? Did he summon me then?_

_- Yes, but first you are to wash._

_The bastard decided he stank, did he? Akkarin couldn't agree more. He went to a barrel of water usually used for washing clothes and splashed his sweaty body with soapy liquid. He also used the opportunity to wash his shirt and trousers. He wrung them out as best he could and pulled them on still slightly wet. He revelled in the feeling of cleanliness. His chin held high, he went to meet his torment of the day._

_His prideful gait took him across the camp, but before he came into sight of Dakova it stuttered and failed. Akkarin's heart hammered in his chest as he rounded the tent and fell to his knees in front of Dakova's gold-studded boots, his hand raising before him as if in a salute._

_Suddenly, a vice-like grip closed around his chin and pulled his head up. Long nails bit into his face painfully, he blinked. Akkarin saw a hard-faced woman looking at him appreciatively. He imagined it was an expression commonly seen on buyers of horses. It was disturbing to be regarded in such a way. His eyes the only thing he could move, Akkarin looked at Dakova, but the Ichani's face was impenetrable. Was he about to be sold?_

_- Pretty, - the woman said silkily. - You know my taste too well, Dakova, - she pinched Akkarin on the cheek, and blew him a kiss making his eyes go round. - Come, Akkarin, we shall play tonight._

_She pulled him up by his outstretched hand. Akkarin was slowly comprehending as she led him away towards her own tent. Dakova didn't say anything, but as they moved away Akkarin could hear the Ichani's chuckle._

_- Such ugly clothes, - she mused as they entered her tent. She promptly began to tear his meagre attire off. Akkarin wasn't so innocent as to find the idea of love-making disturbing. Lust was a beast easily sated and he knew exactly how it was done. He smiled and reached up to kiss the woman. That was a mistake._

_As stun strikes rained down on him, for a few minutes he was only aware of painful spasms and constricting muscles. When they faded, he found himself spread-eagled on a mat of soft furs. The Ichani was leaning over him, her glittering dagger pressed against his jugular, cutting skin._

_- Naughty magician, - she purred, tracing his face with her finger. Her breath was hot on his face._

_- I'm sorry mistress, I didn't-, - his words were cut short by a ringing slap, and another, and a third._

_Akkarin's face was stinging hot, the Ichani's breath hitched in excitement. She kissed him, her tongue darting into his mouth and automatically he responded. Another mistake, her dagger moved to the corner of his eye. Akkarin held his breath and this seemed to be the right thing to do. She continued to kiss his unmoving lips, her hold on the dagger slackened. Her lips and hands moved down his neck and chest._

_Her every touch sent shivers of desire down Akkarin's spine. It was sensual, arousing. He hadn't been with a woman in months, but every reaction shown she punished until he was afraid of breathing else she interpret it wrong. The pleasure was to be hers and nobody else's. Akkarin lay rigid, trying and failing to ignore this new kind of torture, to be oblivious to the hungers her every touch awakened in him, and the growing sickness that spread through every particle of his body. He was a living, healthy man, not a corpse, but he was forced to pretend to be one._

Akkarin wished he could forget such experiences, take a woman to his bed and enjoy the intimacy of her touch without cringing or being sick, but he was cursed with perfect recollection and even when his mind tried to forget, his body remembered oh so well. Rape was about being forced to acknowledge the repulsiveness of your body, to hate with passion every stretch of your naked skin, every yearning feeling in your wretched soul, the disgust at a body's traitorous cravings. The next day, Ilaila had found him hurting and hating himself, and they had talked for the first time since the beginning, and he had come to love her. A hopeless, twisted relationship they had had, never touching for to be touched meant to be defiled, desecrated, tainted...

Akkarin shivered.

'Keep your thoughts under control, Vinara,' he croaked harshly, shooting her a warning look.

Vinara was wrong, he told himself, his stomach churning with bile. He regretted ever tasting the damn food. His nightmares had Dakova's face, always his, and too rarely Hers. There was another more destructive and debilitating kind of abuse, a slow leakage of one's soul through a tiny pinprick of a wound, a stealth of thought that always followed. He hated to be touched, but he did not fear it. Did he? Rape was nothing.

Vinara blinked, cursing her loud thoughts. Akkarin was famous for his skill in reading surface thoughts.

'Did it happen for the first time?' she asked, preferring to ignore the sickly pallor of his skin and the bottomless darkness in his eyes.

Akkarin put down his fork nauseous and closed his eyes.

'No,' he whispered.

He gritted his teeth against a torrent of intrusive memories. His friend and confidant burnt, broken, and the worst one paralyzed when an unlucky fall broke his spine. They were long ago, but the memories raged hot and bright in his mind. The blessed fog of forgetfulness was denied him.

'Your manservant, Takan?'

Akkarin nodded, breathing hard.

'Before I made him a Blood Ring, his work was fraught with peril,' he smiled mirthlessly.

Vinara admired the man's courage. He had no magic to protect himself with.

'He must be good at ducking,' she smiled to ease the tension of the conversation.

'I cannot attest to that,' Akkarin said, mimicking her easy tone. 'Rather I am good at Healing.'

She stared at him in horror, the pain in his eyes confirmed her worst imaginings. Vinara took in a deep breath, dreading the next topic.

'Akkarin, the trauma you lived through hasn't gone away, has it?'

He shrugged. It was pointless to try denying anything after the spectacle he was making of himself.

'It has been decided that you will undergo an extensive therapy to evaluate and reduce the negative consequences of it,' Vinara hoped that the note of finality in her voice wasn't only in her imagination.

Akkarin grimaced in dismay.

'Your secondary conditions, I assume,' he muttered darkly, beginning to regret his promise to obey any restriction they placed on him. 'Fine, but I have one condition.'

Vinara blinked, surprised by this easy surrender.

'And that is?'

'I want Takan back,' he said in a voice that allowed no discussion, his High Lord voice. He was relieved that this tool was still at his disposal. 'And his movements must not be impeded.'

Vinara considered and shook her head.

'We cannot allow you to spend time together, I'm sorry,' she said, bracing for the eruption of fury.

Akkarin grinned wickedly.

'Place a guard inside the room to observe,' he suggested.

Vinara frowned. That would solve the main problem, and with the Blood Ring Takan's usefulness as a spy wouldn't be diminished by any surveillance the guild may post. Akkarin might be severely bruised inside, but he remained a clever and wily bastard.

'I will raise the issue with the other Higher Magicians,' she offered.

'Thank you,' Akkarin murmured. 'Who'll be conducting this therapy? You?'

Vinara snorted with amusement.

'No, one of my Healers requested this assignment,' she explained. 'Lord Atten, do you know him?'

Akkarin knitted his brows in thought.

'He's the one who suggested that our dreams reflect our deepest desires or some such nonsense?' He grimaced in dismay. 'That will be fun...'

'You can trust him,' Vinara assured him. 'Sonea confirmed this through a mind read, and... Akkarin?'

Akkarin's face went perfectly still.

'She did WHAT?!' He demanded in a deadly voice.

**Author's note: How do you rape a man, anyway? I found the notion extremely hard to imagine. No wonder male rape victims have such a hard time at courts... Next chapter may take a while longer...**


	7. A Calling

**BMT belongs to Trudi**

In a haze of pain and confusion Sonea let herself be shepherded out of Akkarin's room for the first time in days. Black tiles swam beneath her wobbly feet, as if she walked through a corridor constructed from pieces of warm chocolate. She remembered a desert of vanilla ice-cream coated in warm chocolate from Lonmar, served by Takan the day of her triumph over Regin in the Arena. It probably cost more than the whole North Quarter, and she had devoured six goblets full of the delicious stuff, watched in amused consternation by the cold gaze of her guardian.

Sonea waded through a thickening white cloud swirling before her face. That was very odd, she thought. They were inside a guild building, weren't they? Clouds were supposed to hang in the sky, not break into people's houses. Thieves did that, Ceryni was one of them unfortunately! At least her hand wasn't hurting anymore. A pleasant numbness took her pain away. Except, she was getting cold, unpleasantly so. She swayed, and would have fallen, but the cloud caught her in strong arms. Did clouds have arms? She didn't know that before, she would tell Akkarin about it, but he was angry with her, wasn't he? She probably got bad marks on a test, she should apologize... It was important to give no cause to doubt the High Lord's choice...

Sonea's mouth moved, but no sound came out.

'Fools!' a Healer on duty snarled at the three warriors who had just carried in the unconscious girl. She was so pale that her skin was almost translucent. 'Haven't you noticed the blood pouring out of her?'

A brachial artery was torn by the worst open fracture of the humerus bone she had seen in her fifty years of work, and the idiot muscle-but-no-brains warriors didn't even think to stem the bleeding or pinch the artery. The close second was probably that racing horse of the Denkyn family, the poor beast had almost torn its leg off in a fall. Thandra couldn't save the horse, but she wouldn't lose the girl today. She placed her wrinkled palm on the mangled flesh and concentrated.

'You!' she snapped, glaring at the youngest of the three warriors.

The young man jumped in alarm, his eyes widening in panic. Lady Thandra had been his teacher and she relished pointing out his stupidity in almost every lecture. It was supposed to have changed now that he was a fully qualified magician, but of course it didn't work, not with her.

'M-my Lady?' he stammered.

'Your power, Emar,' she said with awful impatience. 'Or did you graduate without learning that, too?'

She didn't know what the point of teaching men to Heal was. Admittedly, there were some few competent male healers, but the majority of men were too accustomed to thinking with the wrong brain to be of any use to anybody. As Emar hastened to assist her, one of his colleagues snickered derisively.

'The amused one,' she snapped. 'Run along and fetch the director of this ward,' the warrior gaped at her, his mouth falling open. Thandra waited for him to start drooling onto his chin before she specified. 'Lord Atten!'

The big simpleton ran, probably eager to escape her piercing scrutiny. She shot a glance at a silent one, who stood with a bowed head, showing proper deference to a superior mind. She nodded in approval, and went back to her task.

She started by mending the artery and encouraging the patient's body to produce more blood, and quickly! She estimated the girl had lost around two litres of blood, and it was a real miracle that she was still breathing. A strong girl and smart, she would make an excellent Healer if she didn't get involved with that arrogant Delvon boy! She smiled, he was arrogant all right, but at least he was a rare one with brains!

The door banged open, and she looked up. Lord Atten shot a wild look at the red stains on the floor, it was clear by his flowery nightgown that he wasted no time answering her call.

'Heavens above!' the youngling exclaimed, hurrying to her side. He was just in time as Emar was already used up.

'Make yourself scarce!' she snapped at the sagging youth. He tottered on unsteady feet before bowing like a perfect gentleman and staggering away. Thandra was very pleased that retirement hadn't blunted her wits one bit. 'Help me with that bone, child! Look, it's smashed into splinters!'

'Of course, my Lady,' he said with a warm smile she so adored. 'It will be an honour to assist you.'

Atten was a sweet child, so charming that he almost was excuse enough for the existence of his entire useless breed. She sighed contentedly, and eased her delicate magical senses into the ravaged hand, while the boy affixed the bits she found to a larger piece of bone. The area they operated on resembled a poorly designed jigsaw puzzle.

They worked in companionable silence for a long moment, but good things seldom last. Soon, a clatter of excited voices rose in the background, in tempo with Thandra's blood pressure. She gritted her teeth, and tried with all her considerable willpower to ignore the distraction. Unfortunately, Lady Thandra Verengetti had never been known for her patience, especially when she encountered idiotic behaviour in members of the opposite sex.

'Vinara darling, shut up your esteemed companion,' her ringing teacher's voice tore easily through a loud argument. 'Otherwise, my old classmate shall have to remind himself all the vital details of levitation as I chuck him out the window. One, two-,'

Oh, the magic of threats that had never been empty. She hadn't reached the count of three in decades, which was a shame, really. Sarin the buffoon fell silent, his eyes bulged in indignation, making his resemblance to a toad greater than usual. Thandra smiled to her memories of younger days, and continued.

Lady Vinara glanced at Sarin's apoplectic visage, he was mouthing something noiselessly. She narrowed her eyes and looked more closely. It was one word, she realised. Retirement. Vinara shrugged apologetically. Lady Thandra was as retired as she could be persuaded to be, and no more. She took Sarin by the arm and pulled him out of the surgery room, and away from any nearby windows before he found his voice.

**Author's note: Turns out you didn't have to wait. A bit short, but I hope you enjoy it, and a short break from the scrambled mind of our favourite character :D**


	8. Lord Atten

**BMT belongs to Trudi**

After three hours of bone reconstruction, and two more of listening to Lady Vinara's pessimistic musings, Lord Atten gave up any notions of catching up on lost sleep. Bathed and at last properly attired, he decided to breakfast together with his new patient. He nodded politely to a diminished guard in the corridor, and entered. Remembering Vinara's account, he was unsurprised to see a warrior posted inside as well. The young man looked on the verge of bolting from stress. He was scrupulously shielding, which was probably wise. Atten gave him a reassuring smile.

Looking around, he noted that his patient was still asleep. It would have to change, two bells before noon was no time to be lazing about, but probably some slack should be given, considering the coma the man had just woken up from. He crossed his arms, and stood against the wall next to the warrior. It quickly became apparent that Akkarin wasn't sleeping very soundly, he was tossing his head from side to side and moaning. Atten frowned, and waved his hand, conjuring a sound muting barrier around himself and the warrior so they could talk.

'A nightmare?' he asked.

The young warrior grimaced.

'Nightmares, Atten,' he said with a quaver in his voice. 'I've been here for two hours and all he's done is toss and moan, plead and shout. It's unnerving, I'd wake him up, but I've been explicitly forbidden to touch him.'

Atten opened his bag, and pulled out a notebook and a pencil. Opening it to a first clear page, he started scribbling furiously.

'What exactly did he say?' he asked after he filled several pages with his cramped writing.

'What? I don't know, no's and don't's mainly. Maybe a name a few times, Ilyta, Ilyla? Something like that, a female name,' he shrugged. 'Listen, I'm not going to spy on him for you. That's not right, whatever he might have done!'

Atten looked across the room at the man whose face was like an open book, a collage of emotions told a story of such pain and sadness that Atten's heart broke watching it unfold. He shivered.

'Forgive me, Titus,' he whispered. 'I shouldn't have asked. It won't happen again.'

They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts, observing the mute suffering of their charge. Atten felt something unexpected coalesce inside his chest, and he was certain that the man beside him was experiencing a similar transformation. Atten had always respected Akkarin the High Lord, but it was a distant emotion born of his devotion to the Guild, and devoid of any regard for the human being behind the title. As he watched, however, he finally understood Sonea's brimless loyalty for her guardian, despite the many hurts he inflicted on her. Akkarin was a stranger, but Atten realised he would do anything in his power not to betray his trust.

'Others may not care about keeping his secrets,' he said carefully. 'When people in power are asking the questions.'

Titus looked at him, and a silent understanding passed between them. The young warrior heaved a sigh that must have weighed a ton and shrugged.

'The poor bastard is shielding in sleep,' he muttered. 'It shouldn't cost much more effort to mute and make it opaque.'

Atten smiled grimly. Were they betraying the Guild or the Allied Lands by seeking to protect Akkarin's dignity? He didn't think so, Akkarin was a prisoner and a patient, but he was not their enemy.

'Cover my back,' he said and pulled away from the wall, dropping his muting barrier. He felt the other man's protective shield stretch to embrace him as he approached the bed. 'Wake up!' he shouted, preferring to avoid touching.

The eyes snapped open, and for a split second Atten was transfixed by black annoyed orbs, but next moment all the lucidity was swallowed by an expression of extreme suffering. Akkarin's breath caught, his muscles cramped into taut wires, and he groaned. The black magician's skin shield failed, and Atten went pale realising what must be causing these symptoms.

Indicating that he didn't want a shield anymore, he touched his patient's cheek with one finger, and plunged in. The stabbing agony inside sent him reeling, and he flinched back, breathing hard. Before he collected himself enough to try Healing, a vice grip closed around his wrist and wrenched it away. He opened his eyes, and froze.

'Keep... hands... away... from... me!' Akkarin croaked with vehemence, each word he spat out with great effort. He was snarling, his lips peeled back from his gleaming teeth. Air whistled with every breath he dragged in through his clenched teeth. His face was contorted in agony.

'Lord Akkarin, let him go, please!' Titus exclaimed, approaching the bed from the opposite side. He hovered, unsure of whether he should intervene and break the hold by force.

Bones in Atten's wrist creaked alarmingly, he tried to pull away but the grip was too tight. It hurt! He wanted to defend himself with magic, but instinct told him it would be a terrible mistake. Akkarin would retaliate and people would get hurt or even killed. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he berated himself for his stupidity, he had been warned not to touch.

Suddenly, the death grip on his hand slackened, and Akkarin breathed deeply through his open mouth. Atten disengaged himself, sending some Healing energy into his swelling wrist, and looked at his troublesome patient.

'Lord Atten, are you?' Akkarin asked hoarsely, as he wiped tears from his face. 'Never attempt Healing without permission. Is that clear?'

Atten flushed crimson.

'It is, my lord,' he said, swallowing hard. He would certainly be more careful from now on. 'Do you give it?'

Akkarin narrowed his eyes.

'I do not require Healing presently,' he declined firmly.

'I must insist,' Atten shot back. 'Otherwise, I will be forced to withhold my permission for you to leave your bed.'

Could he do that? Atten hoped so. Akkarin's eyes went wide with indignation. He grimaced but didn't call his bluff. He nodded.

'Refrain from messing up my back, however.'

Atten placed his palm on his forehead, and for a moment he pondered this warning. He began by general examination of organs, as he had been doing for the past few days. Next, he let his mind slide into the blazing ache along the spine. His head was pounding already, but as he looked closer he noticed that the body was no longer so agitated by the pain, as if its reception was muted. Perplexed, he stepped back, lost in thought.

Vaguely, he noticed Akkarin getting up and exchanging some comments with Titus, but he couldn't spare enough concentration on their conversation. His mind was roiling in confusion and disbelief.

'A mind trap,' he mused, tapping his forefinger against his chin. He rushed over to where he had left his notebook, and as he scribbled away his ideas and observations the world around him ceased to exist.

Eventually, he straightened up from his crouch and looked around. The room was empty. Atten blinked in confusion. Where had they gone? He peered into the lavatory, but upon finding no one he stepped out into the corridor. A lone warrior greeted him with a flat stare.

'Where?'

The warrior sneered.

'Oathbreaker demanded to see the High Lord,' he growled. 'As if he was still in charge here!'

Atten sighed. Such invectives were commonplace nowadays. The unity of the Guild, if it ever existed, was broken the day of Akkarin's trial when the magicians split almost in half over the verdict. Those in the king's faction were vehemently pronouncing the opposition as traitors to the throne. Atten looked at the front of the warrior's crimson robes, and sure enough there was a breastpin in king's colours clipped over his heart.

'And did you oblige him?' he asked in a tired voice.

The burly man's nostrils flared in rage.

'Not him!' he snapped. 'It was a standing order of the High Lord to bring him as soon as _his healer_ deemed it possible.'

Atten raised his eyebrows at the derisive tone in the word 'healer'. Members of his discipline were very unpopular among the patriots.

'I didn't give my consent, warrior,' he pointed out.

The man smiled maliciously.

'I heard no objection from you,' he retorted.

Atten took a few deep breaths to stop himself reacting in a negative way.

'Thank you for informing me,' he said evenly, and from a bitter grimace on the warrior's face he knew that he couldn't have irritated the man more if he tried. He smiled innocently.

Akkarin would have to fend for himself for the moment. Atten was his healer, and he would use the time figuring out how to help his patient. He started walking down the corridor.

He needed advice, consultation from someone who was an expert in non-magical medicines. A person who didn't belong to any of the feuding factions. This wasn't about politics but about bringing relieve to a suffering man. Atten sighed. He fervently hoped she wouldn't snap his head off for waking her...

The sun was pleasantly warm on his face as he crossed the Guild grounds towards the row of houses reserved for retired magicians. The novices had already resumed their classes so he wasn't surprised that he met no one on the way. Braced for the worst, Atten rapped his knuckles on the ash doorframe and waited.

After a long minute he heard shuffling footsteps on the other side, and his spirits plummeted. The door cracked open, and an elderly man peered out and gave him an unwelcoming glower. He was a scare-crow of a figure, hunched skin-and-bones eighty year old unpleasant type. He officially served in a capacity of manservant, but it had been widely known that he was a lover of sixty years. The one and only representative of male sex deemed worthy of Lady Thandra's virtues.

It had apparently been a huge scandal when a fifteen-year-old daughter of a powerful noble family started attending official court functions on the arm of a plain-looking penniless vagabond she must have picked up in some gutter. The nature of their relationship was so slanderously obvious that poor Lord Tyshrend packed his daughter up and sent away to be educated at the Guild. Everyone knew that magicians were shameless after all.

'Good afternoon, Panek,' Atten said, bowing his head courteously. 'I need to speak to Lady Thandra. May I come in?'

The servant's lip curled in disgust.

'And who might you be, runt?' he asked insolently, appraising Atten with little eyes.

Atten cleared his throat.

'I am Lord Atten, and I need-,' he began.

'Lording over me, ar ye?' Panek interrupted rudely. 'Or ar ye one of those good-fer-nuthing magicians?' he peered at Atten's emerald robes and grimaced. 'Healer, eh? Come later, Tany's busy.'

'Doing what?' Atten demanded impatiently. Panek was hated for his effectiveness in guarding his mistress's privacy. Like a hound from hell, he kept their humble abode from any visitations. 'I must speak to her, now. It's urgent!'

Panek grinned and folded his arms across his chest in a challenge.

'Bad luck,' he said. 'She's knitting.'

Atten went pale and the old man chuckled, noticing.

'I recognize ye now,' he snorted. 'Ye wer her pet, so ye know. Run along then, ladie.'

Before the door slammed in his face, Atten inserted a foot between the door frame and the wall. He swallowed hard.

'I cannot wait,' he insisted. 'It's about a patient.'

Panek shrugged.

'It's yer head,' he backed away to let Atten pass before slamming the door with a loud snap.

Atten flinched at the noise. They entered a clattered living room. He looked around spying out the armchair. He wound his way between little tables and potted plants that covered the floor, and finally he spotted her.

Lady Thandra was seated, her hands full of wool and knitting needles, and her head lolling backwards, her mouth open in sleep. Knitting. Atten doubted very much that her knitting actually ever progressed past placing wool in her lap or needles in her hands. At least he had never seen evidence to the contrary.

He approached her on hasty feet, and shook her arm delicately. The eyes snapped open, the needle pricking his jugular like a point of a sword. He moved back in a hurry, and bowed deferentially.

'Lady Thandra,' he said huskily. 'Forgive me for interrupting, but I need your advice, please.'

The ancient woman yawned massively.

'Peach let you in, child? Must be important, indeed,' she smiled indulgently. 'Or maybe he's too old to scare anybody off anymore.'

Panek rolled his eyes.

'The puddle by the door says different,' he said, and kissed her wrinkled lips. 'I'll make ye sumi, don't take too long.'

Atten cleared his throat, and his old mentor's attention returned to him.

'You came to seek haven from those brainless cows your father insists you marry?'

He smiled faintly.

'No, lady, most of them haven't recovered yet from the audience with you,' she laughed heartily. 'I seek advice on a patient of mine.'

'A patient or the patient?' she asked, and at his answering smile she raised her eyebrows in interest.

They waited for Panek to serve sumi and lemon cakes, and to leave them alone before starting.

'Speak!' Lady Thandra commanded at last.

He barely told her about the shield, the pain and how Akkarin dealt with it when she interrupted him.

'Does he have nightmares?' she asked with avid eyes.

Atten hesitated as he didn't want to divulge more than absolutely necessary.

'Yes, often,' he admitted, but the woman snorted with laughter.

'More like all the time,' she guessed, and shook her head. 'Your psychotherapy is doomed to fail unless he is made to stop overburdening his brain so while sleeping. He won't heal if he cannot rest.'

Atten smiled sadly.

'Can you help him, lady?'

Lady Thandra grinned a gap-toothed grin.

'A challenge, how delightful!'

She pushed herself to her feet and, leaving him to finish his sumi and cakes, started gathering various vials and bags of herbs, stuffing them into a bulging bag of surgical tools. Atten frowned in worry, he trusted her, but he fervently hoped she wouldn't deem it necessary to cut anything open.

Half an hour later, Lady Thandra was packed and ready to leave. With a tremulous finger she indicated that Atten was the one to carry the heavy bag. They left.

**AN: It took a while, mainly because I changed my mind half-way through this chapter and a big section went to hell, but finally it's done! Please, review.**


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